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SCOTT’S 

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V A N H O E 


EDITED BY 


L. E. DUDLEY 

SUPERVISOR OF ENGLISH AND PRINCIPAL OF THE 

ABILENE, TEXAS, HIGH SCHOOL 


Illustrated by 

C. E. BROCK 

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SERIES 

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D. C. 

HEATH AND COMPANY 

BOSTON 

ATLANTA 

NEW YORK CHICAGO 

SAN FRANCISCO DALLAS 

LONDON 




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HEATH’S GOLDEN KEY SERIES 

The following titles, among many others, are available 

or in preparation: 

POETRY 

Arnold’s sohrab and rustum and other poems 
browning’s shorter poems 

RECENT POETRY 
AND 


FRENCH' S 
GUINDON 


o’keefe’s 


JUNIOR HIGH 


SCHOOL 


POETRY 


MILTON S SHORTER POEMS 
SCOTT’S LADY OF THE LAKE 

Tennyson’s idylls of the king 




COOPER S LAST OF 


FICTION 

THE MOHICANS 


ELIOTS 
y 




N : 7 


SILAS MARNER 
ELIOT'S MILL ON THE FLOSS 

hawthorne’s house of the seven gables 

TALES FROM HAWTHORNE 

dickens’s tale of two cities ( entire) 

dickens’s tale of two cities {edited for rapid reading) 

scott’s ivanhoe 

SCOTT’S QUENTIN DURWARD 

WILLIAMS AND LIEBER’S PANORAMA OF THE SHORT 
STORY 

OTHER TITLES 

ADDISON AND STEELE’S SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY 
PAPERS 

boswell’s life of Johnson ( selections) 
burke’s on conciliation 

PHILLIPS AND GEISLER’s GLIMPSES INTO THE WORLD 
OF SCIENCE 

LOWELL’S A CERTAIN CONDESCENSION AND DEMOCRACY 

(with other essays on international good and bad will) 

macaulay’s Johnson 

FRENCH AND GODKIN’s OLD TESTAMENT NARRATIVES 

Shakespeare’s julius caesar 
Shakespeare’s midsummer night’s dream 

Copyright, 1929 

By D. C. Heath and Company 

2 e 9 

Printed in the United States of America 



, W 1 


PREFACE 


English classics are read in school and assigned for outside 
reading as a part of a course in English for two principal 
reasons. The first of these, probably, is the value believed to 
inhere in the classic itself. This value may consist of the 
historical information it gives, the light it throws upon past 
events, the study of the characters introduced, the moral 
lesson taught by the story, or, merely, the pleasure to be 
derived by the reader in living through the incidents and 
experiencing vicariously the joys and sorrows of the characters. 
The other reason for requiring certain classics to be read in 
school is the hope that such required reading may introduce 
the student to the various types of literature that the world 
has adjudged good, thus broadening his outlook upon life 
and giving him a standard of judgment, a kind of touchstone 
by which he may be aided in choosing his reading matter 
when his school days are over. 

The reading of classics, then, ought to be an interesting 
experience and not a burden to the student. With the idea 
of letting the story have a chance to make its own appeal, 
the notes and suggestions for study in this edition of Ivanhoe 
have been reduced to the fewest number consonant with clear¬ 
ness. Only the uncommon words and expressions and the 
foreign phrases are annotated and these only because refer¬ 
ence books are often not readily accessible. The notes have 
been placed at the last of the book together with a few ques¬ 
tions on each chapter designed to aid the student in noting 
the more important incidents in the development of the plot 
and to stimulate his thinking. It is suggested that each 
chapter be read through first without reference to the notes. 
Then the parts of the chapter referred to in the notes should 
be reread and the questions answered. The questions may 
serve the double purpose of a test and a review. 


L. E. D. 

























































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CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Introduction .vii 

Ivanhoe. 1 

Notes.501 


Questions 


508 






ILLUSTRATIONS 


Portrait of Scott. Frontispiece 

PAGE 

“Do you dispute with me, slave!”.18 

“I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered the 

Palmer.53 

Struck with the sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian 

de Bois-Guilbert.88 

“Well and yeomanly done! ” shouted the robbers. . 120 
He reached the harp and entertained his guest . .177 
He was instantly made prisoner, and pulled from his 

horse.192 

Holding him between them, waited the hard-hearted 

Baron’s further signal.219 

“I know you not, sir,” said the lady .... 225 

Availing herself of the protection of a large, ancient 

shield ..297 

He discharged a fearful blow upon the head of Athel- 

stane.329 

“Make room, my merry men! ”.342 

“Back, dog! ” said the Grand Master .... 381 

“Yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to thyself I appeal” . 406 

At this moment, Wamba winded the bugle . . . 443 

“My father! My father!” said Ivanhoe. “Grant me 

thy forgiveness!”.466 

Wilfred, placing his foot on his breast . . . com¬ 
manded him to yield.486 

Plans of the Chateau de Coucy .... 502-503 

Map of Northeastern England.504 


vi 







INTRODUCTION 

The Author 

Ancestry. — Walter Scott was born August 15, 1771, in 
Edinburgh. His father was a solicitor and his mother, Annie 
Rutherford Scott, from whom the author inherited his re¬ 
markable memory, vivid imagination, and narrative ability, 
was a woman of talent and education. Concerning his an¬ 
cestry, Scott had this to say: “My birth was neither dis¬ 
tinguished nor sordid. According to the prejudices of my 
country it was esteemed gentle, as I was connected, though 
remotely, with ancient families, both by my father’s and 
mother’s side. My father’s grandfather, Walter Scott, well 
known in Teviotdale by the name of ‘Beardie,’ on account of 
his vow never to trim his beard till the Stuarts should be 
restored to the throne, was the second son of Walter Scott, 
first Laird of Raeburn, and grandson of Walter Scott, com¬ 
monly called in tradition ‘Auld Watt’ of Harnden. I am 
therefore lineally descended from that ancient chieftain whose 
name I have made ring in many a ditty, and from his fair 
dame, the ‘Flower of Yarrow’ — no bad lineage for a Border 
minstrel.” 

Childhood.—On account of the fact that he was not strong, 
the child was sent to make his home with his grandfather at 
Sandy-Knowe, where he could romp and play in the open air. 
Under his grandmother’s kindly care he soon became strong, 
though still lame, and he delighted to ride over the country 
on his Shetland pony. From his grandmother he heard in¬ 
teresting tales of Border warfare, and his aunt read to him 
numerous stories and Border ballads, many of which he com¬ 
mitted to memory and frequently declaimed to the delight 
of his companions. By the time that he was eight years old 

vii 


vm 


INTRODUCTION 


he had become strong enough to return to Edinburgh, where 
he was placed in school. He was not a brilliant student, 
but he was known among his playmates as a story-teller of 
rare ability. In the subjects that he liked, he did excellent 
work. He was especially fond of history, and he acquired a 
good knowledge of German, French, and Italian. 

Vocation. — When he was about fifteen years of age, Walter 
entered his father’s office to serve an apprenticeship to law. 
He continued his studies here and attended lectures in the 
university for seven years. The profession of law did not 
especially appeal to him. He pursued it, however, industri¬ 
ously and with fair success. His heart was more apt to be in 
the Highlands “a-chasing the deer” than in the courtroom, 
and at every opportunity he would take long excursions into 
the country where he gathered many traditions and super¬ 
stitions from the peasants and made the acquaintance of 
Highland chieftains, thus obtaining material that proved 
serviceable later when he began to write. In 1797 the young 
lawyer was married to Miss Charlotte Charpentier, the daugh¬ 
ter of a French Royalist. Soon afterwards he received an 
appointment as sheriff of Selkirkshire. The salary obtained 
from this office, the small income that his wife’s property 
afforded, and a legacy from an uncle now enabled him 
to give up the practice of law and devote his attention to 
literature. 

Poetry. — Scott’s first literary work was the translation 
from the German of Burger’s ballad of “Lenore” in 1796. 
Three years later he translated Goethe’s Gotz von Berlichingen. 
His next work, three volumes of Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border, made use of the stores of tales and legends that he 
had been accumulating for many years. This book was very 
successful and realized the author’s early ambition to pre¬ 
serve from oblivion the old Border ballads. His first original 
poem was The Lay of the Last Minstrel, published in 1805. 
Marmion, which appeared in 1808, was so popular that practi¬ 
cally everybody read and memorized its stirring lines. The 
story is told that on a certain night in the city of Edinburgh 
two men met on the street. One of them for his own enter- 


THE AUTHOR 


IX 


tainment was quoting aloud from this poem. When he came 
to the line 

Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on! 

the stranger was constrained to join him, and together they 
recited the concluding line of the stanza 

Were the last words of Marmion. 

Two years later the publication of The Lady of the Lake 
aroused enthusiasm for the poet in both England and Scot¬ 
land. 

Novels. — In 1813, Scott was offered the position of poet 
laureate, but he declined the honor, giving as his reason his 
opinion that he was not a great poet. This was probably one 
reason why he decided to give up the writing of poetry. 
Another reason, possibly, was his realization of the fact that 
Lord Byron, who was rapidly becoming famous as a poet, 
was destined to excel him in this field. Scott, no doubt, 
realizing that he had done his best work as a poet, was 
wise enough to retire before his popularity declined. While 
searching in his desk one day for some fishing tackle, Scott 
came upon an unfinished manuscript that he had begun 
several years earlier. He read the story with interest as if 
it had been written by another, and he decided to finish the 
manuscript and offer it for publication. Not wishing to 
injure his already achieved reputation by publishing a story 
that might not prove successful, he insisted, contrary to the 
wishes of his publisher, who wanted to capitalize his popu¬ 
larity, on withholding his name. This story, which was pub¬ 
lished under the title of Waverley, was the first of a long 
series of Waverley novels that became immensely popular. 
The first nine novels of the series were confined to Scotch 
settings, Ivanhoe being the first to be laid in England. A 
number of later stories dealt with French and English history 
from the time of the Crusades to the fall of the Stuarts. 

Life at Abbotsford. — Scott was ambitious to found a 
baronial family. The beginning, of his baronial estate was 
made in 1811, when he purchased one hundred acres of land on 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


the banks of the Tweed near Dryburgh Abbey. The modest 
house that he erected there was called Abbotsford, because 
the Abbots of Melrose were accustomed to cross the river 
at this “ford.” During the next ten years he added to the 
house and to the estate until the Gothic castle that we now 
associate with his name was completed. Here Scott lived 
like a mediaeval lord, with numerous servants and a liberal 
display, entertaining lavishly his many friends. In 1820 
King George IV made him a baronet. It was Scott’s cus¬ 
tom to do his writing early in the day. It is said that he 
would sit at his desk, writing rapidly and allowing the pages 
of his manuscript to fall to the floor as each was completed 
until, when he was ready to rest from his labor of com¬ 
position, his desk had the appearance of an island in a sea 
of manuscript. Having done his daily task of writing in 
this manner, he would then take his horse and his dogs for 
the remainder of the day and find pleasure and relaxation 
in intimate contact with nature. During this period he pro¬ 
duced an average of two novels a year, and the income from 
his royalties was sufficient to maintain the baronial style that 
pleased him. 

Business Integrity. — In 1805 Scott had become a silent 
partner in the publishing firm of the Ballantynes; he was also 
associated in a business way with Constable, the publisher of 
his novels. Owing to mismanagement, both firms later 
failed. Scott could have taken advantage of the bank¬ 
ruptcy law and could have avoided the payment of the firm’s 
liabilities, which amounted to approximately six hundred 
thousand dollars. His sense of honor, however, would not 
permit him to profit by legal technicalities, and so he assumed 
full responsibility for the debt of both firms, determining 
to pay every cent if he should be spared long enough to do so. 
He turned over to the trustees his estate at Abbotsford, 
but his creditors refusing to accept this sacrifice insisted 
that he continue to make his home there. He set to work 
with renewed industry, in spite of poor health, to discharge the 
obligation. Within two years’ time he had earned enough 
to pay off about one-third of the debt, and within two years 


THE NOVEL 


XI 


after his death, the money obtained from his life insurance 
and his royalties was sufficient to pay the entire amount. 

Last Days. — In 1830 Scott suffered a stroke of paralysis 
from which he never recovered. With characteristic resolu¬ 
tion he continued his labors to the last. Thinking that per¬ 
haps a trip to Italy might help to restore his health, Scott 
visited Malta, Naples, and Rome, using a vessel that the 
British government had placed at his disposal. He continued, 
however, to decline in strength; and, wishing to see his native 
Scotland again before his death, he returned home. The sight 
of the towers of the castle that he loved so well, the Scotch hills, 
the River Tweed, the joyous clamor of his dogs — all these 
filled his eyes with tears. He lived but two months after 
his return. Four days before his death, on September 21, 
1832, he called his son-in-law to his bedside and said: “Lock¬ 
hart, I may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, 
be a good man — be virtuous — be religious — be a good 
man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you 
come to lie here.” His death was regarded as a national loss, 
and many monuments were erected to his memory in various 
parts of the kingdom, and his bust was placed in Westminster 
Abbey. 

Place in Literature. — Sir Walter Scott shares with Dickens 
the honor of being the most popular novelist that England 
has produced. To him belongs the distinction of having 
created the historical novel. He was also the first novelist 
to make the scene an essential element in the action. Per¬ 
haps the best thing that can be said about him is that his 
novels are always wholesome and inspiring. He was able to 
make the nobility of his characters stand out; and in his 
fiction, as in his life, heroism, courage, and honor were domi¬ 
nating characteristics. 


The Novel 

The Study of the Novel. — The primary purpose of a novel 
is to afford pleasure to the reader. This pleasure, naturally, 
will be increased if, in addition to the story, the reader can 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION 


enjoy the intellectual satisfaction that comes from the critical 
observation of a work of art. The novel has been simply de¬ 
fined as a good story well told. It is that division of prose 
fiction that aims to portray life as it really is, or as it may well 
be, as distinguished from the romance, in which more freedom 
is allowed the writer, since in it the story does not have to 
conform to reality. Every novel must have three elements: 

(1) a setting, or place in which the events narrated occur; 

(2) characters, who take part in the incidents; and (3) a plot, 
which is merely the connected series of happenings that 
constitute the story. 

The Title. — A good title should be brief, suggestive, and 
appropriate. The requirements are all met by Ivanhoe. Scott 
chose this title from a rhyme that contained the names of 
three manors forfeited by an ancestor of the Hampden famous 
in English history because of his refusal to pay ship money 
arbitrarily levied by Charles I. The rhyme is as follows: 

Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe 
For Striking of a blow 
Hampden did forego, 

And glad he could escape so. 

The History in “Ivanhoe.” —To appreciate fully the 
period in which the story is placed, the student should review 
the history of England for a century or two following the Nor¬ 
man Conquest in 1066. William the Conqueror retained the 
judicial and administrative organization of his predecessor, 
but he introduced the military organization of feudalism. He 
brought with him his Norman followers and gave to them the 
land of the conquered Saxons. It was natural, therefore, for 
the defeated Saxons to hate the victorious Normans. This 
feeling is well brought out in the introductory chapters of 
Ivanhoe. 

In 1192, Richard the Lion-hearted, while returning from the 
Crusades, after first suffering a shipwreck, was captured by 
Duke Leopold of Austria and imprisoned in a castle in the 
Tyrol. During Richard’s absence from England, Prince John 
assumed control of the government and formed a conspiracy 


THE NOVEL 


Xlll 


to have himself proclaimed king. Richard’s friends, however, 
raised the ransom demanded by Henry VI of Germany, to 
whom Leopold had transferred his royal prisoner. In March, 
1194, Richard returned to England. He then proceeded to 
punish those who had assisted Prince John in the conspiracy, 
but he permitted his brother to go unpunished. 

Scott possessed, in an unusual degree, the ability to make 
the past relive in the present, and that is the chief purpose of 
a historical novel. While Ivanhoe may not be in every in¬ 
stance true to the facts of history, it does enable the reader 
to appreciate the atmosphere of chivalry when knights went 
forth in search of adventure and fought in tournaments and on 
the battlefield for their lady’s favor or in defense of their 
conception of the right. Some of the peculiar phases of the 
history of the period that this novel emphasizes are the an¬ 
tagonism that existed between the Saxons and the Normans, 
the feudal customs of the Middle Ages, the social condition 
of the Hebrew race, the tyranny of the nobles, the existence 
of robber barons, and the power of the numerous religious 
fraternal orders. In Ivanhoe, as Scott himself admits, he has 
“ confused the manners of two or three centuries, and intro¬ 
duced, during the reign of Richard the First, circumstances 
appropriated to a period either considerably earlier or a good 
deal later than that era.” 

The Setting. — The setting of a novel has reference to the 
time and place of the action. In Ivanhoe the action all 
takes place in England in the year 1194. Scott possessed 
extraordinary ability to suit the surroundings to the action. 
The incidents narrated in the story center around the follow¬ 
ing scenes: (1) the forest near Rotherwood, (2) the hall and 
mansion of Rotherwood, (3) the lists at Ashby, (4) the her¬ 
mit’s hut at Copmanhurst, (5) the castle of Torquilstone, (6) 
the trysting tree, (7) Templestowe, (8) the castle of Conings- 
burgh, and (9) the lists at Templestowe. At each of these 
places a dramatically complete section of the story takes 
place. The interrelation of the characters is so well worked 
out, however, that the effect of the whole story is that of com¬ 
plete unity. 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


The Characters. — Scott’s novels are usually on a vast 
scale and involve a large number of characters. Most of these 
are people with simple personalities influenced by a few typi¬ 
cal characteristics; but they are of widely different person¬ 
alities. In the ability to portray people of every type from 
the peasant to the king, from the wandering soldier to the 
renowned chieftain, from the penurious beggar to the opulent 
Jew, he is rivaled in English literature only by Shakespeare. 
Unlike Shakespeare’s characters, however, the characters 
of Scott do not present deep psychological studies, and they 
do not develop. His wide reading in history and romance 
furnished Scott his ideas for most of the characters in Ivanhoe. 
It is generally believed that the idea for the character Rebecca 
was supplied by Washington Irving. She embodied the 
characteristics of a Miss Rebecca Gratz, a young lady of 
Philadelphia with whom Irving was well acquainted. It 
will be noticed that in Ivanhoe special preparation is made 
beforehand and the reader’s interest is aroused before the 
character actually appears on the scene. 

The Plot. — Sometimes, in order to secure interest at the 
beginning, an author opens a novel with a dramatic incident. 
When this device is used, the author is forced to delay the 
progress of the story later and bring in the explanation of 
the situation leading up to the introductory incident. Scott 
preferred to give the exposition first, even at the sacrifice 
of initial interest. By the term “plot” is usually meant 
the threads of the action that constitute the outline of the 
story. Sometimes there are several different lines of action 
involving different groups of characters. To be unified these 
different threads must unite in the main thread. In Ivanhoe, 
the main plot concerns Wilfred and Rowena; but there is a 
political plot that involves Richard and John, and a plot of 
intrigue in which the Templar and Rebecca are the chief 
actors. The apparent lack of unity caused by the introduc¬ 
tion of subplots that distract the reader’s interest from the 
fortunes of Wilfred and Rowena is overcome by the author’s 
skill in making clear the fact that each subsidiary group of 
characters is interested in the fortunes of the primary group. 


THE NOVEL 


XV 


It is possible to trace, in a general way, the successive steps in 
the development of the plot of a novel, just as in the structure 
of a drama, from the initial incident through the rising action 
and climax to the catastrophe or conclusion. The student 
should watch for these incidents in each plot. 

Sources of Interest. — If one wishes to determine the 
reason for the continued popularity of Ivanhoe, the explana¬ 
tion may be found in the period in which it was placed. There 
is something fascinating in the institution of chivalry with 
its lavish display, its gorgeous costumes, and its lofty ideals. 
We cannot fail to be interested in the characterization, the 
wit of Wamba, the rugged loyalty of Gurth, the stubborn¬ 
ness of Cedric, the sociability of Richard, the egotism of 
the Templar, the bravery of Wilfred, the beauty of Rowena, 
and the sacrificing spirit of Rebecca, to mention only a few 
of the leading characters. The author’s skill in abandoning 
a certain individual or group at a critical moment while he 
follows the fortunes of another group makes effective use of 
suspense. The reader is interested, too, in the thrilling 
climaxes, the stirring incidents, and the satisfactory con¬ 
clusion. It is probably not too much to say that Ivanhoe 
is the most popular of Scott’s novels and one of the most 
widely read historical novels of all time. 










t 










































% 








\ 











IVARHOE. 


CHAPTER I. 

Thus communed these ; while to their lowly dome 
The full-fed swine return’d with evening home, 

Compell’d, reluctant, to the several sties, 

With din obstreperous and ungrateful cries. 

Pope’s Odyssey. 

In that pleasant district of merry England which is 
watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient times 
a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful 
hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleas¬ 
ant town of Doncaster. The remains of this extensive 
wood are still to be seen at the noble seats of Went¬ 
worth, of Wharncliffe Park, and around Rotherham. 
Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley; 
here were fought many of the most desperate battles dur¬ 
ing the Civil Wars of the Roses ; and here also flourished 
in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws whose 
deeds have been rendered so popular in English song. 

Such being our chief scene, the date of our story refers 
to a period towards the end of the reign of Richard I., 
when his return from his long captivity had become an 
event rather wished than hoped for by his despairing 
subjects, who were in the meantime subjected to every 
species of subordinate oppression. The nobles, whose 
power had become exorbitant during the reign of Stephen, 
and whom the prudence of Henry the Second had scarce 
reduced into some degree of subjection to the crown, had 
now resumed their ancient license in its utmost extent; 
despising the feeble interference of the English Council 
b 1 


IVANHOE. 


of State, fortifying their castles, increasing the number of 
their dependants, reducing all around them to a state of 
vassalage, and striving by every means in their power 
to place themselves each at the head of such forces as 
might enable him to make a figure in the national con¬ 
vulsions which appeared to be impending. 

The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins, as 
they w~ere called, who, by the law and spirit of the Eng¬ 
lish constitution, were entitled to hold themselves in¬ 
dependent of feudal tyranny, became now unusually 
precarious. If, as was most generally the case, they 
placed themselves under the protection of any of the 
petty kings in their vicinity, accepted of feudal offices in 
his household, or bound themselves, by mutual treaties of 
alliance and protection, to support him in his enterprises, 
they might indeed purchase temporary repose ; but it must 
be with the sacrifice of that independence which was so 
dear to every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of 
being involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the 
ambition of their protector might lead him to undertake. 
On the other hand, such and so multiplied were the means 
of vexation and oppression possessed by the great barons, 
that they never wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, 
to harass and pursue, even to the very edge of destruction, 
any of their less powerful neighbours who attempted to 
separate themselves from their authority, and to trust for 
their protection, during the dangers of the times, to their 
own inoffensive conduct and to the laws of the land. 

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the 
tyranny of the nobility, and the sufferings of the inferior 
classes, arose from the consequences of the Conquest by 
Duke William of Normandy. Four generations had not 
sufficed to blend the hostile blood of the Normans and 
Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, by common language and mu¬ 
tual interests, two hostile races, one of which still felt 
the elation of triumph, while the other groaned under all 
the consequences of defeat. The power had been com¬ 
pletely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility by the 
event of the battle of Hastings, and it had been used, as 
our histories assure us, with no moderate hand. The who.'e 


1VANH0E. 


3 


race of Saxon princes and nobles had been extirpated or dis¬ 
inherited, with few or no exceptions ; nor were the numbers 
great who possessed land in the country of their fathers, even 
as proprietors of the second or of yet inferior classes. The 
royal policy had long been to weaken, by every means, 
legal or illegal, the strength of a part of the population 
which was justly considered as nourishing the most in¬ 
veterate antipathy to their victor. All the monarchs of 
the Norman race had shown the most marked predilec¬ 
tion for their Norman subjects; the laws of the chase, 
and many others, equally unknown to the milder and 
more free spirit of the Saxon constitution, had been fixed 
upon the necks of the subjugated inhabitants, to add 
weight, as it were, to the feudal chains with which they 
were loaded. At court, and in the castles of the great 
nobles, where the pomp and state of a court was emu¬ 
lated, Norman-French was the only language employed; 
in courts of law, the pleadings and judgments were 
delivered in the same tongue. In short, French was the 
language of honour, of chivalry, and even of justice, while 
the far more manly and expressive Anglo-Saxon was 
abandoned to the use of rustics and hinds, who knew no 
other. Still, however, the necessary intercourse between 
the lords of the soil, and those oppressed inferior beings 
by whom that soil was cultivated, occasioned the gradual 
formation of a dialect, compounded betwixt the French 
and the Anglo-Saxon, in which they could render them¬ 
selves mutually intelligible to each other; and fr^u this- 
necessity arose by degrees the structure of our present 
English language, in which the speech of the victors and 
the vanquished have been so happily blended together: 
and which has since been so richly improved by imports 
tions from the classical languages, and from those spoken 
by the southern nations of Europe. 

This state of things I have thought it necessary to 
premise for the information of the general reader, whe 
might be apt to forget that, although no great historical 
events, such as war or insurrection, mark the existence 
of the Anglo-Saxons as a separate people subsequent to 
the reign of William the Second, yet the great national 


4 


IVANHOE. 


distinctions betwixt them and their conquerors, the recol¬ 
lection of what they had formerly been, and to what they 
were now reduced, continued, down to the reign of Edward 
the Third, to keep open the wounds which the Conquest 
had inflicted, and to maintain a line of separation betwixt 
the descendants of the victor Normans and the vanquished 
Saxons. 

The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades 
of that forest which we have mentioned in the begin¬ 
ning of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short¬ 
stemmed, wide-branched oaks, which had witnessed 
perhaps the stately march of the Homan soldiery, flung 
their gnarled arms over a thick carpet of the most deli¬ 
cious greensward; in some places they were intermingled 
with beeches, hollies and copsewood of various descrip¬ 
tions, so closely as totally to intercept the level beams 
of the sinking sun; in others they receded from each 
other, forming those long sweeping vistas in the intricacy 
of which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination 
considers them as the paths to yet wilder scenes of 
silvan solitude. Here the red rays of the sun shot a 
broken and discoloured light, that partially hung upon 
the shattered boughs and mossy trunks of the trees, and 
there they illuminated in brilliant patches the portions 
of turf to which they made their way. A considerable 
open space, in the midst of this glade, seemed formerly 
to have been dedicated to the rites of Druidical super¬ 
stition ; for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular as to 
seem artificial, there still remained part of a circle of 
rough, unhewn stones of large dimensions. Seven stood 
upright; the rest had been dislodged from their places, 
probably by the zeal of some convert to Christianity, and 
lay, some prostrate near their former site, and others on 
the side of the hill. One large stone only had found its 
way to the bottom, and in stopping the course of a small 
brook which glided smoothly round the foot of the emi¬ 
nence, gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of murmur 
to the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet. 

The hu-man figures which completed this landscape 


1VANH0E. 


5 


were in number two, partaking, in their dress and appear¬ 
ance, of that wild and rustic character which belonged 
to the woodlands of the West Eiding of Yorkshire at 
that early period. The eldest of these men had a stern, 
savage, and wild aspect. His garment was of the simplest 
form imaginable, being a close jacket with sleeves,’ com¬ 
posed of the tanned skin of some animal, on which the 
hair had been originally left, but which had been worn 
off in so many places that it would have been difficult to 
distinguish, from the patches that remained, to what 
creature the fur had belonged. This primeval vestment 
reached from the throat to the knees, and served at once 
all the usual purposes of body-clothing; there was no 
wider opening at the collar than was necessary to admit 
the passage of the head, from which it may be inferred 
that it was put on by slipping it over the head and 
shoulders, in the manner of a modern shirt, or ancient 
hauberk. Sandals, bound with thongs made of boar’s 
hide, protected the feet, and a roll of thin leather was 
twined artificially round the legs, and, ascending above 
the calf, left the knees bare, like those of a Scottish High¬ 
lander. To make the jacket sit yet more close to the body, 
it was gathered at the middle by a broad leathern belt, 
secured by a brass buckle; to one side of which was 
attached a sort of scrip, and to the other a ram’s horn, 
accoutred with a mouthpiece, for the purpose of blowing. 
In the same belt was-stuck one of those long, broad, 
sharp-pointed, and two-edged knives, with a buck’s-horn 
handle, which were fabricated in the neighbourhood, and 
bore even at this early period the name of a Sheffield 
whittle. The man had no covering upon his head, which 
was only defended by his own thick hair, matted and 
twisted together, and scorched by the influence of the 
sun into a rusty dark-red colour, forming a contrast with 
the overgrown beard upon his cheeks, which was rather 
of a yellow or amber hue. One part of his dress only 
remains, but it is too remarkable to be suppressed; it 
was a brass ring, resembling a dog’s collar, but without 
any opening, and soldered fast round his neck, so loose 
as to form no impediment to his breathing, yet so tight 


IVANHOE. 


as to be incapable of being removed, excepting by the 
use of the file. On this singular gorget was engraved, in 
Saxon characters, an inscription of the following purport: 
“ Gurth, the son of Beowulph, is the born thrall of Cedric 
of Botherwood.” 

Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth’s occupation, 
was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments, 
a person about ten years younger in appearance, and 
whose dress, though resembling his companion’s in form, 
was of better materials, and of a more fantastic descrip¬ 
tion. His jacket had been stained of a bright purple 
hue, upon which there had been some attempt to paint 
grotesque ornaments in different colours. To the jacket 
he added a short cloak, which scarcely reached half-way 
down his thigh; it was of crimson cloth, though a good 
deal soiled, lined with bright yellow; and as he could 
transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or at his 
pleasure draw it all around him, its width, contrasted 
with its want of longitude, formed a fantastic piece of 
drapery. He had thin silver bracelets upon his arms, 
and on his neck a collar of the same metal, bearing the 
inscription, “ Wamba, the son of Witless, is the thrall of 
Cedric of Botherwood.” This personage had the same 
sort of sandals with his companion, but instead of the 
roll of leather thong, his legs were cased in a sort of 
gaiters, of which one was red and the other yellow. He 
was provided also with a cap, having around it more than 
one bell, about the size of those attached to hawks, which 
jingled as he turned his head to one side or other; and 
as he seldom remained a minute in the same posture, the 
sound might be considered as incessant. Around the 
edge of this cap was a stiff bandeau of leather, cut at 
the top into open-work, resembling a coronet, while a 
prolonged bag arose from within it, and fell down on one 
shoulder like an old-fashioned night-cap, or a jelly-bag, 
or the head-gear of a modern hussar. It was to this part 
of the cap that the bells were attached; which circum¬ 
stance, as well as the shape of his head-dress, and his 
own half-crazed, half-cunning expression of countenance, 
sufficiently pointed him out as belonging to the race of 


IVANIIOE. 


7 

domestic clowns or jesters, maintained in the houses 
of the wealthy, to help away the tedium of those linger¬ 
ing hours which they were obliged to spend within 
doors. He bore, like his companion, a scrip attached 
to his belt, but had neither horn nor knife, being proba¬ 
bly considered as belonging to a class whom it is es¬ 
teemed dangerous to entrust with edge-tools. In place 
of these, he was equipped with a sword of lath, resem¬ 
bling that with which Harlequin operates his wonders 
upon the modern stage. 

The outward appearance of those two men formed 
scarce a stronger contrast than their look and demeanour. 
That of the serf, or bondsman, was sad and sullen; his 
aspect was bent on the ground with an air of deep de¬ 
jection, which might be almost construed into apathy, 
had not the fire which occasionally sparkled in his red 
eye manifested that there slumbered, under the appear¬ 
ance of sullen despondency, a sense of oppression, and a 
disposition to resistance. The looks of Wamba, on the 
other hand, indicated, as usual with his class, a sort of 
vacant curiosity, and fidgety impatience of any posture 
of repose, together with the utmost self-satisfaction re¬ 
specting his own situation and the appearance which he 
made. The dialogue which they maintained between 
them was carried on in Anglo-Saxon, which, as we said 
before, was universally spoken by the inferior classes, 
excepting the Norman soldiers and the immediate per¬ 
sonal dependants of the great feudal nobles. But to give 
their conversation in the original would convey but little 
information to the modern reader, for whose benefit we 
beg to offer the following translation : 

“The curse of St. Withold upon these infernal pork 
ers! ” said the swineherd, after blowing his horn obstrep¬ 
erously, to collect together the scattered herd of swine, 
which, answering his call with notes equally melodious, 
made, however, no haste to remove themselves from the 
luxurious banquet of beech-mast and acorns on which 
they had fattened, or to forsake the marshy banks of 
the rivulet, where several of them, half plunged in mud, 
^ay stretched at their ease, altogether regardless of the 


8 


1VANH0E. 


voice of their keeper. “ The curse of St. With old upon 
them and upon me! ” said G-urth; “ if the two-legged 
wolf snap not up some of them ere nightfall, I am no 
true man. Here, Fangs, Fangs! ” he ejaculated at the 
top of his voice to a ragged, wolfish-looking dog, a sort of 
lurcher, half mastiff, half greyhound, which ran limping 
about as if with the purpose of seconding his master in 
collecting the refractory grunters; but which, in fact, from 
misapprehension of the swineherd’s signals, ignorance of 
his own duty, or malice prepense, only drove them hither 
and thither, and increased the evil which he seemed to 
design to remedy. “A devil draw the teeth of him,” 
said Gurth, “ and the mother of mischief confound the 
ranger of the forest, that cuts the fore-claws off our dogs, 
and makes them unfit for their trade ! Wamba, up and 
help me an thou beest a man; take a turn round the 
back o’ the hill to gain the wind on them; and when 
thou’st got the weather-gage, thou mayst drive them before 
thee as gently as so many innocent lambs.” 

“ Truly,” said Wamba, without stirring from the spot, 
“I have consulted my legs upon this matter, and they 
are altogether of opinion that to carry my gay garments 
through these sloughs would be an act of unfriendship 
to my sovereign person and royal wardrobe; wherefore, 
Gurth, I advise thee to call off Fangs, and leave the herd 
to their destiny, which, whether they meet with bands of 
travelling soldiers, or of outlaws, or of wandering pil¬ 
grims, can be little else than to be converted into Nor¬ 
mans before morning, to thy no small ease and comfort.” 

“The swine turned Normans to my comfort!” quoth 
Gurth; “expound that to me, Wamba, for my brain is 
too dull and my mind too vexed to read riddles.” 

“Why, how call you those grunting brutes running 
about on their four legs ? ” demanded Wamba. 

“ Swine, fool, swine,” said the herd; “ every fool knows 
that.” 

“And swine is good Saxon,” said the Jester; “but how 
call you the sow when she is flayed, and drawn, and 
quartered, and hung up by the heels, like a traitor ? ” 

“ Pork,” answered the swineherd. 


IVANHOE . 


9 


“ I am very glad every fool knows that too,” said 
Wamba, “and pork, I think, is good Norman-French; 
and so when the brute lives, and is in the charge of a 
Saxon slave, she goes by her Saxon name; but becomes 
a Norman, and is called pork, when she is carried to the 
castle hall to feast among the nobles. What dost thou 
think of this, friend Gurth, ha ? ” 

“It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however 
it got into thy fool’s pate.” 

“Nay, I can tell you more,” said Wamba in the same 
tone: “ there is old Alderman Ox continues to hold his 
Saxon epithet while he is under the charge of serfs 
and bondsmen such as thou, but becomes Beef, a fiery 
French gallant, when he arrives before the worshipful 
jaws that are destined to consume him. Mynherr Calf, 
too, becomes Monsieur de Veau in the like manner: he is 
Saxon when he requires tendance, and takes a Norman 
name when he becomes matter of enjoyment. 

“By St. Dunstan,” answered Gurth, “thou speakest 
but sad truths; little is left to us but the air we breathe, 
and that appears to have been reserved with much hesita¬ 
tion, solely for the purpose of enabling us to endure the 
tasks they lay upon our shoulders. The finest and the 
fattest is for their board ; the loveliest is for their couch; 
the best and bravest supply their foreign masters with 
soldiers, and whiten distant lands with their bones, leaving 
few here who have either will or the power to protect the 
unfortunate Saxon. God’s blessing on our Master Cedric, 
he hath done the work of a man in standing in the gap; 
but Reginald Front-de-Boeuf is coming down to this coun¬ 
try in person, and we shall soon see how little Cedric’s 
trouble will avail him. — Here, here,” he exclaimed again, 
raising his voice, “ So ho ! so ho! well done, Fangs! thou 
hast them all before thee now, and bring’st them on 
bravely, lad.” 

“Gurth,” said the Jester, “I know thou thinkest me a 
fool, or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head 
into my mouth. One word to Reginald Front-de-Boeuf or 
Philip de Malvoisin, that thou hast spoken treason against 
the Norman — and thou art but a castaway swineherd; 


10 


IVAN HOE. 


thou wouldst waver on one of these trees as a terror to 
all evil speakers against dignities.” 

“ Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,” said Gurth, “ after 
having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage ? ” 

“Betray thee!” answered the Jester; “no, that were 
the trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so well help 
himself. — But soft, whom have we here ? ” he said, listen¬ 
ing to the trampling of several horses which became then 
audible. 

“Never mind whom,” answered Gurth, who had now 
got his herd before him, and, with the aid of Fangs, was 
driving them down one of the long dim vistas which we 
have endeavoured to describe. 

“ Nay, but I must see the riders,” answered Wamba; 
“perhaps they are come from Fairyland with a message 
from King Oberon.” 

“ A murrain take thee ! ” rejoined the swineherd ; “ wilt 
thou talk of such things, while a terrible storm of thunder 
and lightning is raging within a few miles of us ! Hark, 
how the thunder rumbles ! and for summer rain, I never 
saw such broad downright flat drops fall out of the clouds; 
the oaks, too, notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and 
creak with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest. 
Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt; credit me for 
once, and let us home ere the storm begins to rage, for 
the night will be fearful.” 

Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and 
accompanied his companion, who began his journey after 
catching up a long quarter-staff which lay upon the grass 
beside him. This second Eumseus strode hastily down 
the forest glade, driving before him, with the assistance 
of Fangs, the whole herd of his inharmonious charge. 


XVANHOE. 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

A monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie, 

An outrider that loved venerie ; 

A manly man, to be an abbot able, 

Full many a daintie horse had he in stable. 

And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear 
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear, 

And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell, 

There as this lord was keeper of the cell. 

Chaucer. 

Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation and chid¬ 
ing of his companion, the noise of the horsemen’s feet 
continuing to approach, Wamba could not be prevented 
from lingering occasionally on the road, upon every pre¬ 
tence which occurred; now catching from the hazel a 
cluster of half-ripe nuts, and now turning his head to 
leer after a cottage maiden who crossed their path. The 
horsemen, therefore, soon overtook them on the road. 

Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom the two 
who rode foremost seemed to be persons of considerable 
importance, and the others their attendants. It was not 
difficult to ascertain the condition and character of one of 
these personages. He was obviously an ecclesiastic of 
high rank; his dress was that of a Cistercian Monk, but 
composed of materials much finer than those which the 
rule of that order admitted. His mantle and hood were 
of the best Flanders cloth, and fell in ample, and not un¬ 
graceful, folds around a handsome though somewhat cor¬ 
pulent person. His countenance bore as little the marks 
of self-denial as his habit indicated contempt of worldly 
splendour. His features might have been called good, 
had there not lurked under the pent-house of his eye that 
sly, epicurean twinkle which indicates the cautious volup¬ 
tuary. In other respects, his profession and situation had 
taught him a ready command over his countenance, which 
he could contract at pleasure into solemnity, although its 
natural expression was that of good-humoured social in¬ 
dulgence. In defiance of conventual rules and the edicts 
of popes and councils, the sleeves of this dignitary were 


12 


IVANHOE. 


lined and turned up with rich furs, his mantle secured at 
the throat with a golden clasp, and the whole dress proper 
to his order as much refined upon and ornamented as that 
of a quaker beauty of the present day, who, while she re¬ 
tains the garb and costume of her sect, continues to give 
to its simplicity, by the choice of materials and the mode 
of disposing them, a certain air of coquettish attraction 
savouring but too much of the vanities of the world. 

This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed ambling 
mule, whose furniture was highly decorated, and whose 
bridle, according to the fashion of the day, was orna¬ 
mented with silver bells. In his seat he had nothing of 
the awkwardness of the convent, but displayed the easy 
and habitual grace of a well-trained horseman. Indeed, it 
seemed that so humble a conveyance as a mule, in how¬ 
ever good case, and however well broken to a pleasant 
and accommodating amble, was only used by the gallant 
Monk for travelling on the road. A lay brother, one of 
those who followed in the train, had, for his use on other 
occasions, one of the most handsome Spanish jennets ever 
bred in Andalusia, which merchants used at that time to 
import, with great trouble and risk, for the use of persons 
of wealth and distinction. The saddle and housings of 
this superb palfrey were covered by a long foot-cloth, 
which reached nearly to the ground, and on which were 
richly embroidered mitres, crosses, and other ecclesiastical 
emblems. Another lay brother led a sumpter mule, loaded 
probably with his superior’s baggage ; and two monks of 
his own order, of inferior station, rode together in the 
rear, laughing and conversing with each other, without 
taking much notice of the other members of the cavalcade. 

The companion of the church dignitary was a man past 
forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular; an athletic figure, in 
which long fatigue and constant exercise seemed to have 
left none of the softer part of the human form, having re* 
duced the whole to brawn, bones, and sinews, which had 
sustained a thousand toils, and were ready to dare a thou¬ 
sand more. His head was covered with a scarlet cap, 
faced with fur, of that kind which the French call mortier, 
from its resemblance to the shape of an inverted mortar. 


IVANHOE. 


13 


His countenance was therefore fully displayed, and its 
expression was calculated to impress a degree of awe, if 
not of fear, upon strangers. High features, naturally 
strong and powerfully expressive, had been burnt almost 
into Negro blackness by constant exposure to the tropical 
sun, and might, in their ordinary state, be said to slumber 
after the storm of passion had passed away; but the projec¬ 
tion of the veins of the forehead, the readiness with which 
the upper lip and its thick black moustaches quivered upon 
the slightest emotion, plainly intimated that the tempest 
might be again and easily awakened. His keen, piercing, 
dark eyes told in every glance a his tory of difficulties subdued 
and dangers dared, and seemed to challenge opposition to 
his wishes, for the pleasure of sweeping it from his road by a 
determined exertion of courage and of will; a deep scar 
on his brow gave additional sternness to his countenance 
and a sinister expression to one of his eyes, which had 
been slightly injured on the same occasion, and of which 
the vision, though perfect, was in a slight and partial 
degree distorted. 

The upper dress of this personage resembled that of 
his companion in shape, being a long monastic mantle ; 
but the colour being scarlet, showed that he did not belong 
to any of the four regular orders of monks. On the right 
shoulder of the mantle there was cut, in white cloth, a 
cross of a peculiar form. This upper robe concealed what 
at first view seemed rather inconsistent with its form, a 
shirt, namely, of linked mail, with sleeves and gloves of 
the same, curiously plaited and interwoven, as flexible to 
the body as those which are now wrought in the stocking- 
loom out of less obdurate materials. The fore-part of his 
thighs, where the folds of his mantle permitted them to 
be seen, were also covered with linked mail; the knees 
and feet were defended by splints, or thin plates of steel, 
ingeniously jointed upon each other; and mail hose, 
reaching from the ankle to the knee, effectually protected 
the legs, and completed the rider’s defensive armour. 
In his girdle he wore a long and double-edged dagger, 
which was the only offensive weapon about his person. 

He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a strong 


14 


IVANHOE. 


hackney for the road, to save his gallant war-horse, which 
a squire led behind, fully accoutred for battle, with a 
chamfron or plaited head-piece upon his head, having a 
short spike projecting from the front. On one side of the 
saddle hung a short battle-axe richly inlaid with Darnas^ 
cene carving; on the other the rider’s plumed head-piece 
and hood of mail, with a long two-handed sword, used by 
the chivalry of the period. A second squire held aloft 
his master’s lance, from the extremity of which fluttered 
a small banderole, or streamer, bearing a cross of the same 
form with that embroidered upon his cloak. He also 
carried his small triangular shield, broad enough at the 
top to protect the breast, and from thence diminishing to 
a point. It was covered with a scarlet cloth, which pre¬ 
vented the device from being seen. 

These two squires were followed by two attendants, 
whose dark visages, white turbans, and the Oriental 
form of their garments showed them to be natives of 
some distant Eastern country. The whole appearance of 
this warrior and his retinue was wild and outlandish; 
the dress of his squires was gorgeous, and his Eastern 
attendants wore silver collars round their throats, and 
bracelets of the same metal upon their swarthy legs and 
arms, of which the latter were naked from the elbow, and 
the former from mid-leg to ankle. Silk and embroidery 
distinguished their dresses, and marked the wealth and 
importance of their master; forming, at the same time, a 
striking contrast with the martial simplicity of his own 
attire. They were armed with crooked sabres, having 
the hilt and baldric inlaid with gold, and matched with 
Turkish daggers of yet more costly workmanship. Each 
of them bore at his saddle-bow a bundle of darts or 
javelins, about four feet in length, having sharp steel 
heads, a weapon much in use among the Saracens, and of 
which the memory is yet preserved in the martial exercise 
called El Jerrid, still practised in the Eastern countries. 

The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as 
foreign as their riders. They were of Saracen origin, 
and consequently of Arabian descent; and their fine 
slender limbs, small fetlocks, thin manes, and easy springy 


IVANHOE. 


15 


motion, formed a marked contrast with the large-jointed 
heavy horses, of which the race was cultivated in Flanders 
and in Normandy for mounting the men-at-arms of the 
period in all the panoply of plate and mail, and which, 
placed by the side of those Eastern coursers, might have 
passed for a personification of substance and of shadow. 

The singular appearance of this cavalcade not only 
attracted the curiosity of Wamba, but excited even that 
of his less volatile companion. The monk he instantly 
knew to be the Prior of Jorvaulx Abbey, well known for 
many miles around as a lover of the chase, of the banquet, 
and, if fame did him not wrong, of other worldly pleas¬ 
ures still more inconsistent with his monastic vows. 

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting 
the conduct of the clergy, whether secular or regular, 
that the Prior Aymer maintained a fair character in the 
neighbourhood of his abbey. His free and jovial temper, 
and the readiness with which he granted absolution from 
all ordinary delinquencies, rendered him a favourite 
among the nobility and principal gentry, to several of 
whom he was allied by birth, being of a distinguished 
Norman family. The ladies, in particular, were not dis¬ 
posed to scan too nicely the morals of a man who was 
a professed admirer of their sex, and who possessed many 
means of dispelling the ennui wdiich was too apt to 
intrude upon the halls and bowers of an ancient feudal 
castle. The Prior mingled in the sports of the field with 
more than due eagerness, and was allowed to possess the 
best-trained hawks and the fleetest greyhounds in the 
North Hiding—circumstances which strongly recom¬ 
mended him to the youthful gentry. With the old he 
had another part to play, which, when needful, he could 
sustain with great decorum. His knowledge of books, 
however superficial, was sufficient to impress upon their 
ignorance respect for his supposed learning; and the 
gravity of his deportment and language, with the high 
tone which he exerted in setting forth the authority of 
the church and of the priesthood, impressed them no less 
with an opinion of his sanctity. Even the common 
people, the severest critics of the conduct of their betters, 


X6 


IVANHOE. 


had commiseration with the follies of Prior Aymer. He 
was generous; and charity, as it is well known, covereth 
a multitude of sins, in another sense than that in which 
it is said to do so in Scripture. The revenues of the 
monastery, of which a large part was at his disposal, while 
they gave him the means of supplying his own very con¬ 
siderable expenses, afforded also those largesses which 
he bestowed among the peasantry, and with which he 
frequently relieved the distresses of the oppressed. If 
Prior Aymer rode hard in the chase, or remained long 
at the banquet, if Prior Aymer was seen at the early 
peep of dawn to enter the postern of the abbey, as he glided 
home from some rendezvous which had occupied the 
hours of darkness, men only shrugged up their shoulders, 
and reconciled themselves to his irregularities by recol¬ 
lecting that the same were practised by many of his 
brethren who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever to 
atone for them. Prior Aymer, therefore, and his charac¬ 
ter, were well known to our Saxon serfs, who made their 
rude obeisance, and received his “ Benedicite, mes Jils,” 
in return. 

But the singular appearance of his companion and his 
attendants arrested their attention and excited their 
wonder, and they could scarcely attend to the Prior of 
Jorvaulx’s question, when he demanded if they knew 
of any place of harbourage in the vicinity; so much 
were they surprised at the half-monastic, half-military 
appearance of the swarthy stranger, and at the uncouth 
dress and arms of his Eastern attendants. It is probable, 
too, that the language in which the benediction was con¬ 
ferred, and the information asked, sounded ungracious, 
though not probably unintelligible, in the ears of the 
Saxon peasants. 

“ I asked you, my children,” said the Prior, raising his 
voice, and using the lingua Franca, or mixed language, in 
which the Norman and Saxon races conversed with each 
other, “ if there be in this neighbourhood any good man 
who, for the love of God and devotion to Mother Church, 
will give two of her humblest servants, with their train, 
a night’s hospitality and refreshment ? ” 


IVANHOE. 


17 


This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, 
which formed a strong contrast to the modest terms 
which he thought it proper to employ. 

“ Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church! ” 
repeated Wamba to himself, but, fool as he was, taking 
care not to make his observation audible ; “ I should like 
to see her seneschals, her chief butlers, and her other 
principal domestics! ” 

After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, 
he raised his eyes and replied to the question which had 
been put. 

“ If the reverend fathers,” he said, “ loved good cheer 
and soft lodging, few miles of riding would carry them 
to the Priory of Brinxworth, where their quality could 
not but secure them the most honourable reception; or if 
they preferred spending a penitential evening, they might 
turn down yonder wild glade, which would bring them to 
the hermitage of Copmanhurst, where a pious anchoret 
would make them sharers for the night of the shelter of 
his roof and the benefit of his prayers.” 

The Prior shook his head at both proposals. 

“ Mine honest friend,” said he, “ if the jangling of thy 
bells had not dizzied thine understanding, thou mightst 
know Clericus clericum non decimat; that is to say, we 
churchmen do not exhaust each other’s hospitality, but 
rather require that of the laity, giving them thus an 
opportunity to serve God in honouring and relieving His 
appointed servants.” 

“ It is true,” replied Wamba, “that I, being but an ass, 
am, nevertheless, honoured to bear the bells as well as 
your reverence’s mule; notwithstanding, I did conceive 
that the charity of Mother Church and her servants might 
be said, with other charity, to begin at home.” 

“A truce to thine insolence, fellow,” said the armed 
rider, breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern 

voice, “ and tell us, if thou canst, the road to- How 

call’d you your Franklin, Prior Aymer ? ” 

“ Cedric,” answered the Prior; “ Cedric the Saxon. —• 
Tell me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling, and can 
you show us the road ? ” 
c 



18 


IVANHOE. 


“The road will be uneasy to find/’ answered Gurth, 
who broke silence for the first time, “ and the family of 
Cedric retire early to rest.” 

“ Tush, tell not me, fellow! ” said the military rider; 
“’tis easy for them to arise and supply the wants of 
travellers such as we are, who will not stoop to beg the 
hospitality which we have a right to command.” 

“ I know not,” said Gurth, sullenly, “ if I should show 
the way to my master’s house to those who demand as a 
right the shelter which most are fain to ask as a favour.” 

“Do you dispute with me, slave!” said the soldier; 
and, setting spurs to his horse, he caused him to make a 
demi-volte across the path, raising at the same time the 
riding rod which he held in his hand, with a purpose of 
chastising what he considered as the insolence of the 
peasant. 

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, 
and with a fierce yet hesitating motion laid his hand on 
the haft of his knife; but the interference of Prior Aymer, 
who pushed his mule betwixt his companion and the 
swineherd, prevented the meditated violence. 

“Hay, by St. Mary, brother Brian, you must not think 
you are now in Palestine, predominating over heathen 
Turks and infidel Saracens ; we islanders love not blows, 
save those of Holy Church, who chasteneth whom she 
loveth. — Tell me, good fellow,” said he to Wamba, and 
seconded his speech by a small piece of silver coin, “ the 
way to Cedric the Saxon’s; you cannot be ignorant of it, 
and it is your duty to direct the wanderer even when his 
character is less sanctified than ours.” 

“ In truth, venerable father,” answered the Jester, “ the 
Saracen head of your right reverend companion has fright¬ 
ened out of mine the way home; I am not sure I shall 
get there to-night myself.” 

“Tush,” said the Abbot, “thou canst tell us if thou 
wilt. This reverend brother has been all his life en¬ 
gaged in fighting among the Saracens for the recovery 
of the Holy Sepulchre; he is of the order of Knights 
Templars, whom you may have heard of; he is half a 
monk, half a soldier.” 







































































IVANHOE. 


19 


ik If he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “ he 
should not be wholly unreasonable with those whom he 
meets upon the road, even if they should be in no hurry 
to answer questions that no way concern them.” 

“ I forgive thy wit,” replied the Abbot, “ on condition 
thou wilt show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.” 

“ Well, then,” answered Wamba, “your reverences must 
hold on this path till you come to a sunken cross, of which 
scarce a cubit’s length remains above ground; then take 
the path to the left, for there are four which meet at 
Sunken Cross, and I trust your reverences will obtain 
shelter before the storm comes on.” 

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser; and the caval¬ 
cade, setting spurs to their horses, rode on as men do 
who wish to reach their inn before the bursting of a 
night-storm. 

As their horses’ hoofs died away, Gurth said to his 
companion, “ If they follow thy wise direction, the rev¬ 
erend fathers will hardly reach Rotherwood this night.” 

“No,” said the Jester, grinning, “ but they may reach 
Sheffield if they have good luck, and that is as fit a place 
for them. I am not so bad a woodsman as to show the 
dog where the deer lies, if I have no mind he should 
chase him.” 

“ Thou art right,” said Gurth; “ it were ill that Aymer 
saw the Lady Rowena; and it were worse, it may be, 
for Cedric to quarrel, as is most likely he would, with 
this military monk. But, like good servants, let us hear 
and see, and say nothing.” 

We return to the riders, who had soon left the bonds¬ 
men far behind them, and who maintained the following 
conversation in the Norman-French language, usually 
employed by the superior classes, with the exception of 
the few who were still inclined to boast their Saxon 
descent: 

“ What mean these fellows by their capricious inso¬ 
lence ? ” said the Templar to the Cistercian, “ and why 
did you prevent me from chastising it ? ” 

“ Marry, brother Brian,” replied the Prior, “ touching 
the one of them, it were hard for me to render a reason 


20 


IVANHOE. 


for a fool speaking according to his folly; and the other 
churl is of that savage, fierce, intractable race, some of 
whom, as I have often told you, are still to be found 
among the descendants of the conquered Saxons, and 
whose supreme pleasure it is to testify, by all means in 
their power, their aversion to their conquerors.” 

“ I would soon have beat him into courtesy,” observed 
Brian; “I am accustomed to deal with such spirits. 
Our Turkish Captives are as fierce and intractable as Odin 
himself could have been; yet two months in my house* 
hold, under the management of my master of the slaves, 
has made them humble, submissive, serviceable, and ob¬ 
servant of your will. Marry, sir, you must beware of 
the poison and the dagger; for they use either with free 
will when you give them the slightest opportunity.” 

“ Ay, but,” answered Prior Aymer, “ every land has 
its own manners and fashions ; and, besides that beating 
this fellow could procure us no information respecting 
the road to Cedric’s house, it would have been sure to 
have established a quarrel betwixt you and him had we 
found our way thither. Remember what I told you; 
this wealthy Franklin is proud, fierce, jealous, and irri¬ 
table, a withstander of the nobility, and even of his 
neighbours, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Philip Mal- 
voisin, who are no babes to strive with. He stands up 
so sternly for the privileges of his race, and is so proud 
of his uninterrupted descent from Hereward, a renowned 
champion of the Heptarchy, that he is universally called 
Cedric the Saxon; and makes a boast of his belonging 
to a people from whom many others endeavour to hide 
their descent, lest they should encounter a share of the 
vce victis , or severities imposed upon the vanquished.” 

“ Prior Aymer,” said the Templar, “you are a man of 
gallantry, learned in the study of beauty, and as expert 
as a troubadour in all matters concerning the arr&ts of 
love; but I shall expect much beauty in this celebrated 
Rowena, to counter-balance the self-denial and for¬ 
bearance which I must exert if I am to court the favour 
of such a seditious churl as you have described her 
father Cedric.” 


IVANHOE. 


21 


“ Cedric is not her father.” replied the Prior, “ and is 
but of remote relation; she is descended from highei 
blood than even he pretends to, and is but distantly con 
nected with him by birth. Her guardian, however, he 
is, self-constituted as I believe; but his ward is as deai 
to him as if she were his own child. Of her beauty yov 
shall soon be judge ; and if the purity of her complexion, 
and the majestic yet soft expression of a mild blue eye, 
do not chase from your memory the black-tressed girls 
of Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound’s paradise, 
I am an infidel and no true son of the church.” 

“ Should your boasted beauty,” said the Templar, “ be 
weighed in the balance and found wanting, you know 
our wager ? ” 

“ My gold collar,” answered the Prior, “ against ten 
butts of Chian wine; -— they are mine as securely as if 
they were already in the convent vaults, under the key 
of old Dennis, the cellarer.” 

“And I am myself to be judge,” said the Templar, 
“ and I am only to be convicted on my own admission 
that I have seen no maiden so beautiful since Pentecost 
was a twelve-month. Pan it not so? — Prior, your collar 
is in danger; I will wear it over my gorget in the lists 
of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

“Win it fairly,” said the Prior, “and wear it as ye 
will; I will trust your giving true response, on your 
word as a knight and as a churchman. Yet, brother, 
take my advice, and file your tongue to a little more 
courtesy than your habits of predominating over infidel 
captives and Eastern bondsmen have accustomed you. 
Cedric the Saxon, if offended — and he is no way slack 
in taking offence—is a man who, without respect to your 
knighthood, my high office, or the sanctity of either, would 
clear his house of us, and send us to lodge with the larks, 
though the hour were midnight. And be careful how 
you look on Powena, whom he cherishes with the most 
jealous care; an he take the least alarm in that quarter 
we are but lost men. It is said he banished his only 
son from his family for lifting his eyes in the way of 
affection towards this beauty, who may be worshipped, 


22 


IVANHOE. 


it seems, at a distance, but is not to be approached with 
other thoughts than such as we bring to the shrine of the 
Blessed Virgin.” 

“ Well, you have said enough,” answered the Templar; 
“ I will for a night put on the needful restraint, and 
deport me as meekly as a maiden; but as for the fear 
of his expelling us by violence, myself and squires, 
with Hamet and Abdalla, will warrant you against that 
disgrace. Doubt not that we shall be strong enough 
to make good our quarters.” 

“ We must not let it come so far,” answered the Prior. 
“ But here is the clown’s sunken cross, and the night is 
so dark that we can hardly see which of the roads ,we 
are to follow. He bid us turn, I think, to the left.” 

“ To the right,” said Brian, “ to the best of my remem¬ 
brance.” 

“To the left — certainly the left; I remember his 
pointing with his wooden sword.” 

“Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand, and sc 
pointed across his body with it,” said the Templar. 

Each maintained his opinion with sufficient obstinacy, 
as is usual in all such cases; the attendants were appealed 
to, but they had not been near enough to hear Wamba’s 
directions. 

At length Brian remarked, what had at first escaped 
him in the twilight: “ Here is some one either asleep or 
lying dead at the foot of this cross — Hugo, stir him with 
the butt-end of thy lance.” 

This was no sooner done than the figure arose, exclaim¬ 
ing in good French, “ Whosoever thou art, it is discour¬ 
teous in you to disturb my thoughts.” 

“We did but wish to ask you,” said the Prior, “the 
road to Botherwood, the abode of Cedric the Saxon.” 

“I myself am bound thither,” replied the stranger; 
“and if I had a horse I would be your guide, for the 
way is somewhat intricate, though perfectly well known 
to me.” 

“ Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my friend,” 
said the Prior, “ if thou wilt bring us to Cedric’s in 
safety.” 


IVANHOE. 


23 


And lie caused one of his attendants to mount his own 
led horse, and give that upon which he had hitherto rid¬ 
den to the stranger who was to serve for a guide. 

Their conductor pursued an opposite road from that 
which Wamba had recommended for the purpose of mis¬ 
leading them. The path soon led deeper into the wood¬ 
land, and crossed more than one brook, the approach to 
which was rendered perilous by the marshes through 
which it flowed; but the stranger seemed to know, as 
if by instinct, the soundest ground and the safest points 
of passage; and, by dint of caution and attention, brought 
the party safely into a wider avenue than any they had 
yet seen; and, pointing to a large, low, irregular building 
at the upper extremity, he said to the Prior, “ Yonder is 
Rotherwood, the dwelling of Cedric the Saxon.” 

This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose nerves 
were none of the strongest, and who had suffered such 
agitation and alarm in the course of passing through the 
dangerous bogs, that he had not yet had the curiosity to 
ask his guide a single question. Finding himself now at 
his ease and near shelter, his curiosity began to awake, 
and he demanded of the guide who and what he was. 

“ A Palmer, just returned from the Holy Land,” was 
the answer. 

“ You had better have tarried there to fight for the 
recovery of the Holy Sepulchre,” said the Templar. 

“ True, Reverend Sir Knight,” answered the Palmer, 
to whom the appearance of the Templar seemed perfectly 
familiar; “ but when those who are under oath to recover 
the' holy city are found travelling at such a distance from 
the scene of their duties, can you wonder that a peaceful 
peasant like me should decline the task which they have 
abandoned ? ” 

The Templar would have made an angry reply, but 
was interrupted by the Prior, who again expressed his 
astonishment that their guide, after such long absence, 
should be so perfectly acquainted with the passes of the 
forest. 

“ I was born a native of these parts,” answered their 
guide, and as he made the reply they stood before the 


IVANHOE. 


M 

mansion of Cedric — a low, irregular building, containing 
several courtyards or inclosures, extending over a con¬ 
siderable space of ground, and which, though its size 
argued the inhabitant to be a person of wealth, differed 
entirely from the tall, turreted, and castellated buildings 
in which the Norman nobility resided, and which had 
become the universal style of architecture throughout 
England. 

Rotherwood was not, however, without defences ; no 
habitation, in that disturbed period, could have been so, 
without the risk of being plundered and burnt before the 
next morning. A deep fosse, or ditch, was drawn round 
the whole building, and filled with water from a neigh¬ 
bouring stream. A double stockade, or palisade, composed 
of pointed beams, which the adjacent forest supplied, 
defended the outer and inner bank of the trench. There 
was an entrance from the west through the outer stockade, 
which communicated by a drawbridge with a similar open¬ 
ing in the interior defences. Some precautions had been 
taken to place those entrances under the protection of 
projecting angles, by which they might be flanked in case 
of need by archers or siingers. 

Before this entrance the Templar wound his horn 
loudly 5 for the rain, which had long threatened, began 
now to descend with great violence. 


CHAPTER III. 

Then (sad relief !) from the bleak coast that hears 
The German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong, 

And yellow-hair’d, the bine-eyed Saxon came. 

Thomson’s Liberty . 

In a hall, the height of which was greatly dispropor- 
tioned to its extreme length and width, a long oaken 
table formed of planks rough-liewn from the forest, and 
which had scarcely received any polish, stood ready pre¬ 
pared for the evening meal of Cedric the Saxon. The 
roof, composed of beams and rafters, had nothing to 


IVANHOE. 


25 


divide the apartment from the sky excepting the planking 
and thatch; there was a huge fireplace at either end of 
the hall, but, as the chimneys were constructed in a very 
clumsy manner, at least as much of the smoke found its 
way into the apartment as escaped by the proper vent. 
The constant vapour which this occasioned had polished 
the rafters and beams of the low-browed hall, by encrust¬ 
ing them with a black varnish of soot. On the sides of 
the apartment hung implements of war and of the chase, 
and there were at each corner folding doors, which gave 
access to other parts of the extensive building. 

The other appointments of the mansion partook of the 
rude simplicity of the Saxon period, which Cedric piqued 
himself upon maintaining. The floor was composed of 
earth mixed with lime, trodden into a hard substance, 
such as is often employed in flooring our modern barns. 
For about one quarter of the length of the apartment the 
floor was raised by a step, and this space, which was 
called the dais, was occupied only by the principal mem¬ 
bers of the family and visitors of distinction. For this 
purpose, a table richly covered with scarlet cloth was 
placed transversely across the platform, from the middle 
of which ran the longer and lower board, at which the 
domestics and inferior persons fed, down towards the 
bottom of the hall. The whole resembled the form of 
the letter "]"> or some of those ancient dinner-tables which, 
arranged on the same principles, may be still seen in the 
antique Colleges of Oxford or Cambridge. Massive chairs 
and settles of carved oak were placed upon the dais, and 
over these seats and the more, elevated table was fastened 
a canopy of cloth, which served in some degree to protect 
the dignitaries who occupied that distinguished station 
from the weather, and especially from the rain, which in 
some places found its way through the ill-constructed 
roof. 

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the 
dais extended, were covered with hangings or curtains, 
and upon the floor there was a carpet, both of which were 
adorned with some attempts at tapestry or embroidery, 
executed with brilliant, or rather gaudy, colouring. Over 


26 


I VAN HOE. 


the lower range of table, the roof, as we noticed, had no 
covering; the rough plastered walls were left bare, and 
the rude earthen floor was uncarpeted; the board was 
uncovered by a cloth, and rude massive benches supplied 
the place of chairs. 

In the centre of the upper table were placed two chairs 
more elevated than the rest, for the master and mistress 
of the family, who presided over the scene of hospitality, 
and from doing so derived their Saxon title of honour, 
which signifies “ the Dividers of Bread.” 

To each of these chairs was added a footstool, curiously 
carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark of distinction 
was peculiar to them. One of these seats was at present 
occupied by Cedric the Saxon, who, though but in rank a 
thane, or, as the Normans called him, a Franklin, felt at 
the delay of his evening meal an irritable impatience 
which might have become an alderman, whether of 
ancient or of modern times. 

It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this pro¬ 
prietor, that he was of a frank, but hasty and choleric, 
temper. He was not above the middle stature, but broad- 
shouldered, long-armed, and powerfully made, like one 
accustomed to endure the fatigue of war or of the chase; 
his face was broad, with large blue eyes, open and frank 
features, fine teeth, and a well-formed head, altogether 
expressive of that sort of good humour which often lodges 
with a sudden and hasty temper. Pride and jealousy 
there was in his eye, for his life had been spent in assert¬ 
ing rights which were constantly liable to invasion ; and 
the prompt, fiery, and resolute disposition of the man had 
been kept constantly upon Hie alert by the circumstances 
of his situation. His long yellow hair was equally di¬ 
vided on the top of his head and upon his brow, and 
combed down on each side to the length of his shoulders; 
it had but little tendency to grey, although Cedric was 
approaching to his sixtieth year. 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the 
throat and cuffs with what was called minever — a kind 
of fur inferior in quality to ermine, and formed, it is 
believed, of the skin of the grey squirrel. This doublet 


IVANHOE. 


27 


hung unbuttoned over a close dress of scarlet which sate 
tight to his body; he had breeches of the same, but they 
did not reach below the lower part of the thigh, leaving 
the knee exposed, llis feet had sandals of the same 
fashion with the peasants, but of finer materials, and 
secured in the front with golden clasps. He had brace¬ 
lets of gold upon his arms, and a broad collar of the same 
precious metal around his neck. About his waist he 
wore a richly studded belt, in which was stuck a short, 
straight, two-edged sword, with a sharp point, so disposed 
as to hang almost perpendicularly by his side. Behind 
his seat was hung a scarlet cloth cloak lined with fur, 
and a cap of the same materials, richly embroidered, which 
completed the dress of the opulent landholder when he 
chose to go forth. A short boar-spear, with a broad and 
bright steel head, also reclined against the back of his 
chair, which served him, when he walked abroad, for the 
purpose of a staff or of a weapon, as chance might require. 

Several domestics, whose dress held various propor¬ 
tions between the richness of their master’s and the coarse 
and simple attire of G-urth, the swineherd, watched the 
looks and waited the commands of the Saxon dignitary. 
Two or three servants of a superior order stood behind 
their master upon the dais; the rest occupied the lower 
part of the hall. Other attendants there were of a differ¬ 
ent description: two or three large and shaggy grey- , 
hounds, such as were then employed in hunting the stag 
and wolf; as many slow-hounds, of a large bony breed, 
with thick necks, large heads, and long ears; and one or 
two of the smaller dogs, now called terriers, which waited 
with impatience the arrival of the supper; but, with the 
sagacious knowledge of physiognomy peculiar to their 
race, forbore to intrude upon the moody silence of their 
master, apprehensive probably of a small white truncheon 
which lay by Cedric’s trencher, for the purpose of re¬ 
pelling the advances of his four-legged dependants. One 
grisly old wolf-dog alone, with the liberty of an indulged 
favourite, had planted himself close by the chair of state, 
and occasionally ventured to solicit notice by putting his 
large hairy head upon his master’s knee, or pushing 


28 


IVANHOB. 


his nose into his hand. Even he was repelled by the 
stern command, “ Down, Balder, down! I am not in the 
humour for foolery.” 

In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no very 
placid state of mind. The Lady Rowena, who had been 
absent to attend an evening mass at a distant church, had 
but just returned, and was changingher garments, which 
had been wetted by the storm. There were as yet no 
tidings of G-urth and his charge, which should long since 
have been driven home from the forest; and such was the 
insecurity of the period as to render it probable that the 
delay might be explained by some depredation of the out¬ 
laws, with whom the adjacent forest abounded, or by the 
violence of some neighbouring baron, whose consciousness 
of strength made him equally negligent of the laws of 
property. The matter was of consequence, for great 
part of the domestic wealth of the Saxon proprietors 
consisted in numerous herds of swine, especially in forest 
land, where those animals easily found their food. 

Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane was 
impatient for the presence of his favourite clown, Wamba, 
whose jests, such as they were, served for a sort of season¬ 
ing to his evening meal, and to the deep draughts of ale 
and wine with which he was in the habit of accompany¬ 
ing it. Add to all this, Cedric had fasted since noon, and 
his usual supper hour was long past, a cause of irritation 
common to country squires, both in ancient and modern 
times. His displeasure was expressed in broken sentences, 
partly muttered to himself, partly addressed to the domes¬ 
tics who stood around ; and particularly to his cupbearer, 
who offered him from time to time, as a sedative, a sil¬ 
ver goblet filled with wine — “ Why tarries the Lady 
Rowena ? ” 

“ She is but changing her head-gear,” replied a female 
attendant, with as much confidence as the favourite lady’s 
maid usually answers the master of a modern family; 
“you would not wish her to sit down to the banquet in 
her hood and kirtle ? and no lady within the shire can 
be quicker in arraying herself than my mistress.” 

This undeniable argument produced a sort of acqui 


IVANHOE. 


29 


ascent “ Umph ! 99 on the part of the Saxon, with the 
addition. “ I wish her devotion may choose fair weather 
for the next visit to St. John’s Kirk. — But what, in the 
name of ten devils,” continued he, turning to the cup¬ 
bearer, and raising his voice, as if happy to have found a 
channel into which he might divert his indignation with¬ 
out fear of control—“what, in the name of ten devils, 
keeps Gurth so long a-field ? I suppose we shall have an 
evil account of the herd; he was wont to be a faithful 
and cautious drudge, and I had destined him for some¬ 
thing better; perchance I might even have made him 
one of my warders.” 

Oswald, the cupbearer, modestly suggested, “ That it 
was scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew ” — an 
ill-chosen apology, since it turned upon a topic so harsh 
to Saxon ears. 

“ The foul fiend,” exclaimed Cedric, “ take the curfew- 
bell, and the tyrannical bastard by whom it was devised, 
and the heartless slave who names it with a Saxon tongue 
to-a Saxon ear ! The curfew! ” he added, pausing— “ ay, 
the curfew, which compels true men to extinguish their 
lights, that thieves and robbers may work their deeds in 
darkness ! Ay, the curfew ! Beginald Pront-de-Boeuf 
and Philip de Malvoisin know the use of the curfew as 
well as William the Bastard himself, or e’er a Norman 
adventurer that fought at Hastings. I shall hear, I 
guess, that my property has been swept off to save from 
starving the hungry banditti whom they cannot support 
but by theft and robbery. My faithful slave is murdered, 
and my goods are taken for a prey — and Wamba — 
where is Wamba ? Said not some one he had gone forth 
with Gurth ? ” 

Oswald replied in the affirmative. 

“ Ay! why, this is better and better! he is carried off 
too, the Saxon fool, to serve the Norman lord. Pools 
are we all indeed that serve them, and fitter subjects for 
their scorn and laughter than if we were born with but 
half our wits. But I will be avenged,” he added, start¬ 
ing from his chair in impatience at the supposed injury, 
and catching hold of his boar-spear ; “I will go with my 


30 


IVANHOE. 


complaint to the great council. I have friends, I have 
followers — man to man will I appeal the Norman to the 
lists. Let him come in his plate and his mail, and all 
that can render cowardice bold; I have sent such a javelin 
as this through a stronger fence than three of their war 
shields ! — Haply they think me old; but they shall find, 
alone and childless as I am, the blood of Hereward is in 
the veins of Cedric. — Ah, Wilfred, Wilfred!” he ex¬ 
claimed in a lower tone, “ couldst thou have ruled thine 
unreasonable passion, thy father had not been left in his 
age like the solitary oak that throws out its shattered and 
unprotected branches against the full sweep of the tem¬ 
pest ! ” The reflection seemed to conjure into sadness his 
irritated feelings. Replacing his javelin, he resumed his 
seat, bent his looks downward, and appeared to be ab¬ 
sorbed in melancholy reflection. 

From his musing Cedric was suddenly awakened by the 
blast of a horn, which was replied to by the clamorous 
yells and barking of all the dogs in the hall, and some 
twenty or thirty which were quartered in other parts of 
the building. It cost some exercise of the white truncheon, 
well seconded by the exertions of the domestics, to silence 
this canine clamour. 

“ To the gate, knaves ! ” said the Saxon, hastily, as soon 
as the tumult was so much appeased that the dependants 
could hear his voice. “ See what tidings that horn tells 
us of — to announce, I ween, some her ship and robbery 
which has been done upon my lands.” 

Returning in less than three minutes, a warder an¬ 
nounced, “That the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx, and the 
good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commander of the 
valiant and venerable order of Knights Templars, with a 
small retinue, requested hospitality and lodging for the 
night, being on their way to a tournament which was to 
be held not far from Ashby-de-la-Zouche on the second 
day from the present.” 

“Aymer — the Prior Aymer! Brian de Bois-Guib 
bert! ” muttered Cedric — “Normans both; but Norman 
or Saxon, the hospitality of Rotherwood must not be 
impeached: they are welcome, since they have chosen to 


IVANHOE. 


31 


halt — more welcome would they have been to have ridden 
further on their way. But it were unworthy to murmur 
for a night’s lodging and a night’s food; in the quality 
of guests, at least, even Normans must suppress their 
insolence. — Go, Hundebert,” he added, to a sort of major- 
domo who stood behind him with a white wand; “ take 
six of the attendants and introduce the strangers to the 
guests’ lodging. Look after their horses and mules, and 
see their train lack nothing. Let them have change of 
vestments if they require it, and fire, and water to wash, 
and wine and ale; and bid the cooks add what they 
hastily can to our evening meal; and let it be put on the 
board when those strangers are ready to share it. Say 
to them, Hundebert, that Cedric would himself bid them 
welcome, but he is under a vow never to step more than 
three steps from the dais of his own hall to meet any 
who shares not the blood of Saxon royalty. Begone! 
see them carefully tended; let them not say in their 
pride, the Saxon churl has shown .at once his poverty and 
his avarice.” 

The major-domo departed with several attendants to 
execute his master’s commands. “ The Prior Aymer! ” 
repeated Cedric, looking to Oswald, “the brother, if I 
mistake not, of Giles de Mauleverer, now lord of Middle- 
ham ? ’’ 

Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. “ His brother 
sits in the seat, and usurps the patrimony, of a better 
race — the race of Ulfgar of Middleham; but what Nor¬ 
man lord doth not the same ? This Prior, is, they say, a 
free and jovial priest, who loves the wine-cup and the 
bugle-horn better than bell and book. Good; let him 
come, he shall be welcome. How named ye the Templar ? ” 

“ Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert! ” said Cedric, still in the musing, half- 
arguing tone which the habit of living among dependants 
had accustomed him to employ, and which resembled a 
man who talks to himself rather than to those around 
him — “ Bois-Guilbert! That name has been spread 
wide both for good and evil. They say he is valiant as 
the bravest of his order; but stained with their usual 



32 


IVANHOE. 


vices — pride, arrogance, cruelty, and voluptuousness-^ 
a hard-hearted man, who knows neither fear of earth nor 
awe of heaven. So say the few warriors who have 
returned from Palestine. —Well, it is but for one night; 
he shall be welcome too. Oswald, broach the oldest 
wine-cask; place the best mead, the mightiest ale, the 
richest morat, the most sparkling cider, the most 
odoriferous pigments upon the board; fill the largest 
horns — Templars and Abbots love good wines and good 
measure. — Elgitha, let thy Lady Rowena know we shall 
not this night expect her in the hall, unless such be her 
especial pleasure.’ 7 

“ But it will be her especial pleasure,” answered 
Elgitha, with great readiness, “ for she is ever desirous 
to hear the latest news from Palestine.” 

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty 
resentment; but Rowena and whatever belonged to her 
were privileged, and secure from his anger. He only 
replied, u Silence, maiden; thy tongue outruns thy dis¬ 
cretion. Say my message to thy mistress, and let her do 
her pleasure. Here, at least, the descendant of Alfred 
still reigns a princess.” 

Elgitha left the apartment. 

“ Palestine! ” repeated the Saxon ; “ Palestine! how 
many ears are turned to the tales which dissolute cru¬ 
saders or hypocritical pilgrims bring from that fatal 
land! I too might ask — - I too might inquire —I too 
might listen with a beating heart to fables which the wily 
strollers devise to cheat us into hospitality; but no — the 
son who has disobeyed me is no longer mine; nor will 
I concern myself more for his fate than for that of the 
most worthless among the millions that ever shaped the 
cross on their shoulder, rushed into excess and blood-guilt¬ 
iness, and called it an accomplishment of the will of God.” 

He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instant on 
the ground; as he raised them, the folding doors at the 
bottom of the hall were cast wide, and preceded by the 
major-domo with his wand, and four domestics bearing 
blazing torches, the guests of the evening entered the 
apartment. 


IV AN IIOE. 


33 


CHAPTER IY. 

With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled, 

And the proud steer was on the marble spread; 

With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round, 

Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown’d. 

Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat; 

A trivet table and ignobler seat. 

The Prince assigns — 

Odyssey, Book XX. 

The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity afforded 
him of changing his riding robe for one of yet more 
costty materials, over which he wore a cope curiously em¬ 
broidered. Besides the massive golden signet ring which 
marked his ecclesiastical dignity, his fingers, though 
contrary to the canon, were loaded with precious gems ; 
his sandals were of the finest leather which was imported 
from Spain; his beard trimmed to as small dimensions 
as his order would possibly permit, and his shaven crown 
concealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered. 

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also 
changed; and though less studiously bedecked with 
ornament, his dress was as rich, and his appearance far 
more commanding, than that of his companion. He had 
exchanged his shirt of mail for an under tunic of dark 
purple silk, garnished with furs, over which flowed his 
long robe of spotless white in ample folds. The eight- 
pointed cross of his order was cut on the shoulder of his 
mantle in black velvet. The high cap no longer invested 
his brows, which were only shaded by short and thick 
curled hair of a raven blackness, corresponding to his 
unusually swart complexion. Nothing could be more 
gracefully majestic than his step and manner, had. they 
not been marked by a predominant air of haughtiness, 
easily acquired by the exercise of unresisted authority. 

These two dignified persons were followed by their 
respective attendants, and at a more humble distance by 
their guide, whose figure had nothing more remarkable 


34 


IVAN HOE. 


than it derived from the usual weeds of a pilgrim. A 
cloak or mantle of coarse black serge enveloped his whole 
body. It was in shape something like the cloak of a 
modern hussar, having similar flaps for covering the 
arms, and was called a /Sclaveyn, or Sclavonian. Coarse 
sandals, bound with thongs, on his bare feet; a broad 
and shadowy hat, with cockle-shells stitched on its brim, 
and a long staff shod with iron, to the upper end of which 
was attached a branch of palm, completed the Palmer’s 
attire. He followed modestly the last of the train which 
entered the hall, and, observing that the lower table scarce 
afforded room sufficient for the domestics of Cedric and 
the retinue of his guests, he withdrew to a settle placed 
beside, and almost under, one of the large chimneys, and 
seemed to employ himself in drying his garments, until 
the retreat of some one should make room at the board, 
or the hospitality of the steward should supply him with 
refreshments in the place he had chosen apart. 

Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air of digni¬ 
fied hospitality, and, descending from the dais, or elevated 
part of his hall, made three steps towards them, and then 
awaited their approach. 

“ I grieve,” he said, “ reverend Prior, that my vow 
binds me to advance no farther upon this floor of my 
fathers, even to receive such guests as you and this 
valiant Knight of the Holy Temple. But my steward 
has expounded to you the cause of my seeming dis¬ 
courtesy. Let me also pray that you will excuse my 
speaking to you in my native language, and that you 
will reply in the same if your knowledge of it permits; if 
not, I sufficiently understand Norman to follow your 
meaning.” 

“Vows,” said the Abbot, “must be unloosed, worthy 
Franklin, or permit me rather to say, worthy Thane, 
though the title is antiquated. Vows are the knots 
which tie us to Heaven — they are the cords which bind 
the sacrifice to the horns of the altar — and are therefore, 
as I said before, to be unloosed and discharged, unless 
our Holy Mother Church shall pronounce the contrary. 
And respecting language, I willingly hold communication 


IVANHOE. 


35 


in that spoken by my respected grandmother, Hilda of 
Middleham, who died in odour of sanctity, little short, if 
we may presume to say so, of her glorious namesake, the 
blessed Saint Hilda of Whitby — God be gracious to her 
soul!” 

When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a concili¬ 
atory harangue, his companion said briefly and emphati¬ 
cally, “ I speak ever French, the language of King Kichard 
and his nobles; but I understand English sufficiently to 
communicate with the natives of the country.” 

Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty and 
impatient glances which comparisons between the two 
rival nations seldom failed to call forth; but, recollecting 
the duties of hospitality, he suppressed further show of 
resentment, and, motioning with his hand, caused his 
guests to assume two seats a little lower than his own, 
but placed close beside him, and gave a signal that the 
evening meal should be placed upon the board. 

While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric’s com¬ 
mands, his eye distinguished Gurth, the swineherd, who, 
with his companion Wamba, had just entered the hall. 
“ Send.these loitering knaves up hither,” said the Saxon, 
impatiently. And when the culprits came before the 
dais — “How comes it, villains, that you have loitered 
abroad so late as this ? Hast thou brought home thy 
charge, sirrah Gurth, or hast thou left them to robbers 
and marauders ? ” 

“ The herd is safe, so please ye,” said Gurth. 

“ But it does not please me, thou knave,” said Cedric, 
“that I should be made to suppose otherwise for two 
hours, and sit here devising vengeance against my neigh¬ 
bours for wrongs they have not done me. I tell thee, 
shackles and the prison-house shall punish the next 
offence of this kind.” 

Gurth, knowing his master’s irritable temper, at¬ 
tempted no exculpation; but the Jester, who could pre¬ 
sume upon Cedric’s tolerance, by virtue of his privileges 
as a fool, replied for them both : “ In troth, uncle Cedric, 
you are neither wise nor reasonable to-night.” 

“How, sir!” said his master; “you shall to the por- 


36 


IVANHOE. 


ter’s lodge and taste of the discipline there, if you give 
your foolery such license.” 

“First let your wisdom tell me,” said Wamba, “is it 
just and reasonable to punish one person for the fault of 
another ? ” 

“ Certainly not, fool,” answered Cedric. 

“Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle, for 
the fault of his dog Tangs ? for I dare be sworn we lost 
not a minute by the way, when we had got our herd to¬ 
gether, which Fangs did not manage until we heard the 
vesper-bell.” 

“Then hang up Fangs,” said Cedric, turning hastily 
towards the swineherd, “ if the fault is his, and get thee 
another dog.” 

“ Under favour, uncle,” said the Jester, “that were still 
somewhat on the bow-hand of fair justice; for it was no 
fault of Fangs that he was lame and could not gather the 
herd, but the fault of those that struck off two of his fore¬ 
claws, an operation for which, if the poor fellow had beeu 
consulted, he would scarce have given his voice.” 

“ And who dared to lame an animal which belonged to 
my bondsman?” said the Saxon, kindling in wrath. 

“ Marry, that did old Hubert,” said Wamba, “ Sir Philip 
de Malvoisin’s keeper of the chase. He caught Fangs 
strolling in the forest, and said he chased the deer con¬ 
trary to his master’s right, as warden of the walk.” 

“ The foul fiend take Malvoisin,” answered the Saxon, 
“ and his keeper both ! I will teach them that the wood 
was disforested in terms of the great Forest Charter. But 
enough of this. Go to, knave, — go to thy place; and thou, 
Gurth, get thee another dog, and should the keeper dare 
to touch it, I will mar his archery ; the curse of a coward 
on my head, if I strike not off the forefinger of his right 
hand ! he shall draw bowstring no more. — I crave your 
pardon, my worthy guests. I am beset here with neigh¬ 
bours that match your infidels, Sir Knight, in Holy Land. 
But your homely fare is before you; feed, and let welcome 
make amends for hard fare.” 

The feast, however, which was spread upon the board 
needed no apologies from the lord of the mansion. Swine’s 


IVANHOE. 


37 


tlesh, dressed in several modes, appeared on the lower part 
of the board, as also that of fowls, deer, goats, and hares, 
and various kinds of fish, together with huge loaves and 
cakes of bread, and sundry confections made of fruits and 
honey. The smaller sorts of wild-fowl, of which there 
was abundance, were not served up in platters, but brought 
in upon small wooden spits or broaches, and offered by the 
pages and domestics who bore them to each guest in suc¬ 
cession, who cut from them such a portion as he pleased. 
Beside each person of rank was placed a goblet of silver; 
the lower board was accommodated with large drinking- 
horns. 

When the repast was about to commence, the majors 
domo, or steward, suddenly raising his wand, said aloud: 
“Forbear! — Place for the Lady Bowena.” A side-door 
at the upper end of the hall now opened behind the ban¬ 
quet table, and Bowena, followed by four female attend¬ 
ants, entered the apartment. Cedric, though surprised, 
and perhaps not altogether agreeably so, at his ward ap¬ 
pearing in public on this occasion, hastened to meet her, 
and to conduct her, with respectful ceremony, to the ele¬ 
vated seat at his own right hand appropriated to the lady 
of the mansion. All stood up to receive her; and reply¬ 
ing to their courtesy by a mute gesture of salutation, she 
moved gracefully forward to assume her place at the board. 
Ere she had time to do so, the Templar whispered to the 
Prior: “I shall wear no collar of gold of yours at the 
tournament. The Chian wine is your own.” 

“ Said I not so ? ” answered the Prior; “ but check 
your raptures, the Franklin observes you.” 

Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed only to 
act upon the immediate impulse of his own wishes, Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert kept his eyes riveted on the Saxon 
beauty, more striking perhaps to his imagination because 
differing widely from those of the Eastern sultanas. 

Formed in the best proportions of her sex, Bowena was 
tall in stature, yet not so much so as to attract observa¬ 
tion on account of superior height. Her complexion was 
exquisitely fair, but the noble cast of her head and fea¬ 
tures prevented the insipidity which sometimes attaches 


38 


IVANHOE. 


to fair beauties. Her clear blue eye, which sate enshrined 
beneath a graceful eyebrow of brown, sufficiently marked 
to give expression to the forehead, seemed capable to 
kindle as well as melt, to command as well as to beseech. 
If mildness were the more natural expression of such a 
combination of features, it was plain that, in the present 
instance, the exercise of habitual superiority, and the re¬ 
ception of general homage, had given to the Saxon lady 
a loftier character, which mingled with and qualified that 
bestowed by nature. Her profuse hair, of a colour betwixt 
brown and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful and graceful 
manner in numerous ringlets, to form which art had prob¬ 
ably aided nature. These locks were braided with gems, 
and being worn at full length, intimated the noble birth 
and free-born condition of the maiden. A golden chain, 
to which was attached a small reliquary of the same 
metal, hung round her neck. She wore bracelets on her 
arms, which were bare. Her dress was an under-gown and 
kirtle of pale sea-green silk, over which hung a long loose 
robe which reached to the ground, having very wide 
sleeves, which came down, however, very little below the 
elbow. This robe was crimson, and manufactured out of 
the very finest wool. A veil of silk interwoven with 
gold was attached to the upper part of it, which could 
be, at the wearer’s pleasure, either drawn over the face 
and bosom after the Spanish fashion, or disposed as a 
sort of drapery round the shoulders. 

When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar’s eyes 
bent on her with an ardour that, compared with the dark 
caverns under which they moved, gave them the effect of 
lighted charcoal, she drew with dignity the veil around 
her face, as an intimation that the determined freedom 
of his glance was disagreeable. 

Cedric saw the motion and its cause. “ Sir Templar,” 
said he, “ the cheeks of our Saxon maidens have seen too 
little of the sun to enable them to bear the fixed glance 
of a crusader.” 

“ If I have offended,” replied Sir Brian, “ I crave your 
pardon — that is, I crave the Lady Rowena’s pardon — 
for my humility will carry me no lower.” 


IVANHOE. 


33 


“The Lady Bowena,” said the Prior, “has punished 
us all, in chastising the boldness of my friend. Let me 
hope she will be less cruel to the splendid train which 
are to meet at the tournament.” 

“ Our going thither,” said Cedric, “ is uncertain. I love 
not these vanities, which were unknown to my fathers 
when England was free.” 

“ Let us hope, nevertheless,” said the Prior, “ our com¬ 
pany may determine you to travel thitherward; when 
the roads are so unsafe, the escort of Sir Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert is not to be despised.” 

“ Sir Prior,” answered the Saxon, “ wheresoever I have 
travelled in this land, I have hitherto found myself, with 
the assistance of my good sword and faithful followers, 
in no respect needful of other aid. At present, if we 
indeed journey to Ashby-de-la-Zouche,. we do so with my 
noble neighbour and countryman, Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh, and with such a train as would set outlaws and 
feudal enemies at defiance. — I drink to you, Sir Prior, 
in this cup of wine, which I trust your taste will approve, 
and I thank you for your courtesy. Should you be so 
rigid in adhering to monastic rule,” he added, “ as to 
prefer your acid preparation of milk, I hope you will not 
strain courtesy to do me reason.” 

“Nay,” said the Priest, laughing, “it is only in our 
abbey that we confine ourselves to the lac dulce or the 
lac acidum either. Conversing with the world, we use 
the world’s fashion, and therefore I answer your pledge 
in this honest wine, and leave the weaker liquor to my 
lay-brother.” 

“ And I,” said the Templar, filling his goblet, “ drink 
wassail to the fair Bowena; for since her namesake intro¬ 
duced the word into England, has never been one more 
worthy of such a tribute. By my faith, I could pardon 
the unhappy Vortigern, had he half the cause that we 
now witness for making shipwreck of his honour and 
his kingdom.” 

“ I will spare your courtesy, Sir Knight,” said Bowena 
with dignity, and without unveiling herself; “ or rather I 
will tax it so far as to require of you the latest news from 


40 


IVANHOE. 


Palestine, a theme more agreeable to our English ears than 
the compliments which your French breeding teaches.” 

“I have little of importance to say, lady,” answered 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ excepting the confirmed 
tidings of a truce with Saladin.” 

He was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken his 
appropriated seat upon a chair the back of which was 
decorated with two ass’s ears, and which was placed 
about two steps behind that of his master, who, from 
time to time, supplied him with victuals from his own 
trencher; a favour, however, which the Jester shared 
with the favourite dogs, of whom, as we have already 
noticed, there were several in attendance. Here sat 
Wamba, with a small table before him, his heels tucked 
up against the bar of the chair, his cheeks sucked up so 
as to make his jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, and 
his eyes half-shut, yet watching with alertness every 
opportunity to exercise his licensed foolery. 

“ These truces with the infidels,” he exclaimed, without 
caring how suddenly he interrupted the stately Templar, 
“ make an old man of me ! ” 

“ Go to, knave — how so ? ” said Cedric, his features 
prepared to receive favourably the expected jest. 

“Because,” answered Wamba, “I remember three of 
them in my day, each of which was to endure for the 
course of fifty years; so that, by computation, I must be 
at least a hundred and fifty years old.” 

“ I will warrant you against dying of old age, however,” 
said the Templar, who now recognised his friend of the 
forest; “ I will assure you from all deaths but a violent 
one, if you give such directions to wayfarers as you did 
this night to the Prior and me.” 

“ How, sirrah ! ” said Cedric, “ misdirect travellers ? 
We must have you whipt; you are at least as much 
rogue as fool.” 

“ I pray thee, uncle,” answered the Jester, “ let my 
folly for once protect my roguery. I did but make a 
mistake between my right hand and my left; and he 
might have pardoned a greater who took a fool for his 
counsellor and guide.” 


IVANHOE. 


41 


Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of 
the porter’s page, who announced that there was a stranger 
at the gate, imploring admittance and hospitality. 

“Admit him,” said Cedric, “be he who or what he 
may; — a night like that which roars without, compels 
even wild animals to herd with tame, and to seek the 
protection of man, their mortal foe, rather than perish 
by the elements. Let his wants be ministered to with 
all care; look to it, Oswald.” 

And the steward left the banqueting-hall to see the 
commands of his patron obeyed. 


CHAPTER Y. 

Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimen¬ 
sions, senses, affections, passions ? Fed with the same food, hurt 
with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the 
same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, 
as a Christian is ? — Merchant of Venice. 

Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of his 
master, “It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac of York; 
is it fit I should marshal him into the hall ? ” 

“ Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,” said Wamba with 
his usual effrontery; “ the swineherd will be a fit usher 
to the Jew.” 

« St. Mary,” said the Abbot, crossing himself, “ an un¬ 
believing Jew, and admitted into this presence ! ” 

“A dog Jew,” echoed the Templar, “to approach a 
defender of the Holy Sepulchre ? ” 

“By my faith,” said Wamba, “it would seem the 
Templars love the Jews’ inheritance better than they do 
their company.” 

“ Peace, my worthy guests,” said Cedric; “ my hospi¬ 
tality must not be bounded by your dislikes. If Heaven 
bore with the whole nation of stiff-necked unbelievers 
for more years than a layman can number, we may endure 
the presence of one Jew for a few hours. But I constrain 
no man to converse or to feed with him. — Let him ha vs 


42 


IVANHOE. 


a board and a morsel apart, — unless/ 7 he said smiling, 
“ these turban’d strangers will admit his society. 77 

“ Sir Franklin, 77 answered the Templar, “ my Saracen 
slaves are true Moslems, and scorn as much as any Chris¬ 
tian to hold intercourse with a Jew. 77 

“Now, in faith, 77 said Wamba, “I cannot see thar the 
worshippers of Mahound and Termagaunt have so greatly 
the advantage over the people once chosen of Heaven. 77 

“He shall sit with thee, Wamba, 77 said Cedric; “the 
fool and the knave will be well met. 77 

“ The fool, 77 answered Wamba, raising the relics of a 
gammon of bacon, “will take care to erect a bulwark 
against the knave. 77 

“ Hush, 77 said Cedric, “ for here he comes. 77 

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing with 
fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deep humility, a 
tall thin old man, who, however, had lost by the habit of 
stooping much of his actual height, approached the lower 
end of the board. His features, keen and regular, with 
an aquiline nose, and piercing black eyes; his high and 
wrinkled forehead, and long grey hair and beard, would 
have been considered as handsome, had they not been the 
marks of a physiognomy peculiar to a race which, during 
those dark ages, was alike detested by the credulous and 
prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by the greedy and ra¬ 
pacious nobility, and who, perhaps owing to that very 
hatred and persecution, had adopted a national charac¬ 
ter in wdiich there was much, to say the least, mean and 
unamiable. 

The Jew’s dress, which appeared to have suffered consid¬ 
erably from the storm, was a plain russet cloak of many 
folds, covering a dark purple tunic. He had large boots 
lined with fur, and a belt around his waist, which sus¬ 
tained a small knife, together with a case for writing 
materials, but no weapon. He wore a high square yellow- 
cap of a peculiar fashion, assigned to his nation to distin¬ 
guish them from Christians, and which he doffed with 
great humility at the door of the hall. 

The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric the 
Saxon was such as might have satisfied the most preju- 


IVANHOE. 


43 


diced enemy of the tribes of Israel. Cedric himself 
coldly nodded in answer to the Jew’s repeated saluta¬ 
tions, and signed to him to take place at the lower end 
of the table, where, however, no one offered to make room 
for him. On the contrary, as he passed along the file, 
casting a timid, supplicating glance, and turning towards 
each of those who occupied the lower end of the board, 
the Saxon domestics squared their shoulders, and contin¬ 
ued to devour their supper with great perseverance, pay¬ 
ing not the least attention to the wants of the new guest. 
The attendants of the Abbot crossed themselves, with 
looks of pious horror, and the very heathen Saracens, as 
Isaac drew near them, curled up their whiskers with in¬ 
dignation, and laid their hands on their poniards, as if 
ready to rid themselves by the most desperate means from 
the apprehended contamination of his nearer approach. 

Probably the same motives which induced Cedric to 
open his hall to this son of a rejected people would have 
made him insist on his attendants receiving Isaac with 
more courtesy; but the Abbot had at this moment en¬ 
gaged him in a most interesting discussion on the breed 
and character of his favourite hounds, which he would 
not have interrupted for matters of much greater impor¬ 
tance than that of a Jew going to bed supperless. While 
Isaac thus stood an outcast in the present society, like his 
people among the nations, looking in vain for welcome or 
resting-place, the Pilgrim, who sat by the chimney, took 
compassion upon him, and resigned his seat, saying briefly, 
“ Old man, my garments are dried, my hunger is appeased; 
thou art both wet and fasting.” So saying, he gathered 
together and brought to a flame the decaying brands which 
lay scattered on the ample hearth; took from the larger 
board a mess of pottage and seethed kid, placed it upon 
the small table at which he had himself supped, and, with¬ 
out waiting the Jew’s thanks, went to the other side of 
the hall, whether from unwillingness to hold more close 
communication with the object of his benevolence, or 
from a wish to draw near to the upper end of the table, 
seemed uncertain. 

Had there been painters in those days capable to exe* 


44 


IVAN HOE. 


cute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his withered form 
and expanded his chilled and trembling hands over the 
fire, would have formed no bad emblematical personifica¬ 
tion of the Winter season. Having dispelled the cold, he 
turned eagerly to the smoking mess which was placed 
before him, and ate with a haste and an apparent relish 
that seemed to betoken long abstinence from food. 

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their dis¬ 
course upon hunting , the Lady Rowena seemed engaged 
in conversation with one of her attendant females; and 
the haughty Templar, whose eye seemed to wander from 
the Jew to the Saxon beauty, revolved in his mind 
thoughts which appeared deeply to interest him. 

“ I marvel, worthy Cedric,” said the Abbot, as their dis¬ 
course proceeded, “ that, great as your predilection is for 
your own manly language, you do not receive the Norman- 
French into your favour, so far at least as the mystery of 
wood-craft and hunting is concerned. Surely no tongue 
is so rich in the various phrases which the field-sports 
demand, or furnishes means to the experienced woodman 
so well to express his jovial art.’ 7 

“ Good Father Aymer,” said the Saxon, “ be it known 
to you, I care not for those over-sea refinements, without 
which I can well enough take my pleasure in the woods. 

I can wind my horn, though I call not the blast either a 1 
recheat or a mort; I can cheer my dogs on the prey, and I 
can flay and quarter the animal when it is brought down, 
without using the new-fangled jargon of curee, arbor, nom - j 
hies, and ah the babble of the fabulous Sir Tristrem.” 

“ The French,” said the Templar, raising his voice with 
the presumptuous and authoritative tone which he used 1 
upon all occasions, “is not only the natural language of 1 
the chase, but that of love and of war, in which ladies f 
should be won and enemies defied.” 

“ Pledge me in a cup of wine, Sir Templar,” said Cedric, ; 
“ and fill another to the Abbot, while I look back some 
thirty years to tell you another tale. As Cedric the 
Saxon then was, his plain English tale needed no garnish 
from French troubadours when it was told in the ea.r of 
beauty; and the field of Northallerton, upon the day of ! 


IVANHOE. 


45 


the Holy Standard, could tell whether the Saxon war-cry 
was not heard as far within the ranks of the Scottish 
host as the cri de guerre of the boldest Norman baron. 
To the memory of the brave who fought there! — Pledge 
me, my guests.” He drank deep, and went on with in¬ 
creasing warmth: “ Ay, that was a day of cleaving of 
shields, when a hundred banners were bent forward over 
the heads of the valiant, and blood flowed round like 
water, and death was held better than flight. A Saxon 
bard had called it a feast of the swords —- a gathering of 
the eagles to the prey — the clashing of bills upon shield 
and helmet, the shouting of battle more joyful than the 
clamour of a bridal. But our bards are no more,” he said; 
“ our deeds are lost in those of another race ; our language 
— our very name — is hastening to decay, and none 
mourns for it save one solitary old man. — Cupbearer! 
knave, fill the goblets. To the strong in arms, Sir Tem¬ 
plar, be their race or language what it will, who now bear 
them best in Palestine among the champions of the Cross! ” 

“ It becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,” 
said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert; “ yet to whom, besides 
the sworn champions of the Holy Sepulchre, can the 
palm be assigned among the champions of the Cross ? ” 

“To the Knights Hospitallers,” said the Abbot; “I 
have a brother of their order.” 

“I impeach not their fame,” said the Templar; “never¬ 
theless — ” 

“I think, friend Cedric,” said Wamba, interfering, 
“ that had Richard of the Lion’s Heart been wise enough 
to have taken a fool’s advice, he might have stayed at 
home with his merry Englishmen, and left the recovery 
of Jerusalem to those same knights who had most to do 
with the loss of it.” 

“ Were there, then, none in the English army,” said the 
Lady Rowena, “whose names are worthy to be mentioned 
with the Knights of the Temple and of St. John ?” 

“Forgive me, lady,” replied De Bois-Guilbert; “the 
English monarch did indeed bring to Palestine a host of 
gallant warriors, second only to those whose breasts have 
been the unceasing bulwark of that blessed land.” 


46 


I VAN HOE. 


“ Second to none,” said the Pilgrim, who had stood 
near enough to hear, and had listened to this conversation 
with marked impatience. All turned towards the spot 
from whence this unexpected asseveration was heard. 
“ I say,” repeated the Pilgrim in a firm and strong voice, 
“ that the English chivalry were second to none who ever 
drew sword in defence of the Holy Land. I say besides, 
for I saw it, that King Richard himself, and five of his 
knights, held a tournament after the taking of St. John- 
de-Acre, as challengers against all comers. I say that, 
on that day, each knight ran three courses, and cast to 
the ground three antagonists. I add, that seven of these 
assailants were Knights of the Temple; and Sir Brian 
de Bois-G-uilbert well knows the truth of what I tell 
you.” 

It is impossible for language to describe the bitter scowl 
of rage which rendered yet darker the swarthy counte¬ 
nance of the Templar. In the extremity of his resent¬ 
ment and confusion, his quivering fingers griped towards 
the handle of his sword, and perhaps only withdrew from 
the consciousness that no act of violence could be safely 
executed in that place and presence. Cedric, whose feel¬ 
ings were all of a right onward and simple kind, and were 
seldom occupied by more than one object at once, omitted, 
in the joyous glee with which he heard of the glory of 
his countrymen, to remark the angry confusion of his 
guest. “1 would give thee this golden bracelet, Pilgrim,” 
he said, “ couldst thou tell me the names of those knights 
who upheld so gallantly the renown of merry England.” 

“ That will I do blithely,” replied the Pilgrim, “ and 
without guerdon; my oath, for a time, prohibits me from 
touching gold.” 

“ I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend 
Palmer,” said Wamba. 

“The first in honour as in arms, in renown as in 
place,” said the Pilgrim, “ was the brave Richard, King 
of England.” 

“I forgive him,” said Cedric — “I forgive him his 
descent from the tyrant Duke William.” 

“ The Earl of Leicester was the second,” continued the 


IVANHOE . 


a7 


Pilgrim. “ Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the 
third.” 

“ Of Saxon descent, he at least,” said Cedric, with 
exultation. 

“ Sir Eoulk Doilly the fourth,” proceeded the Pilgrim. 

“ Saxon also, at least by the mother’s side,” continued 
Cedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness, and for¬ 
got, in part at least, his hatred to the Normans in the 
common triumph of the King of England and his 
islanders. “And who was the fifth?” he demanded. 

“ The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.” 

“ Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist! ” shouted 
Cedric. “And the sixth? ” he-continued with eagerness 
— “ how name you the sixth ? ” 

“ The sixth,” said the Palmer, after a pause, in which 
he seemed to recollect himself, “ was a young knight of 
lesser renown and lower rank, assumed into that honour¬ 
able company less to aid their enterprise than to make 
up their number; his name dwells not in my memory.” 

“ Sir Palmer,” said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, scornfully, 
“ this assumed forgetfulness, after so much has been re¬ 
membered, comes too late to serve your purpose. I will 
myself tell the name of the knight before whose lance 
fortune and my horse’s fault occasioned my falling — it 
was the Knight of Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six 
that, for his years, had more renown in arms. — Yet this 
will I say, and loudly — that were he in England, and 
durst repeat, in this week’s tournament, the challenge of 
St. John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed as I now am, 
would give him every advantage of weapons, and abide 
the result.” 

“ Your challenge would be soon answered,” replied the 
Palmer, “ were your antagonist near you. As the matter 
is, disturb not the peaceful hall with vaunts of the issue 
of a conflict which you well know cannot take place. If 
Ivanhoe ever returns from Palestine, I will be his surety 
that he meets you.” 

“ A goodly security ! ” said the Knight Templar; “and 
what do you proffer as a pledge ? ” 

“ This reliquary,” said the Palmer, taking a small 


48 


IVAN HOE. 


ivory box from his bosom, and crossing himself, “con¬ 
taining a portion of the true cross, brought from the 
Monastery of Mount Carmel.” 

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated a 
pater noster, in which all devoutly joined, excepting the 
Jew, the Mahomedans, and the Templar; the latter of 
whom, without vailing his bonnet or testifying any rever¬ 
ence for the alleged sanctity of the relic, took from his 
aeck a gold chain, which he flung on the board, saying, 
“ Let Prior Aymer hold my pledge and that of this name¬ 
less vagrant, in token that, when the Knight of Ivanhoe 
comes within the four seas of Britain, he underlies the 
challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he answers 
not, I will proclaim him as a coward on the walls of every 
Temple Court in Europe.” 

“ It will not need,” said the Lady Bowena, breaking 
silence: “ my voice shall be heard, if no other in this hall 
is raised, in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I affirm he 
will meet fairly every honourable challenge. Could my 
weak warrant add security to the inestimable pledge of 
this holy pilgrim, I would pledge name and fame that 
Ivanhoe gives this proud knight the meeting he desires.” 

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have occu¬ 
pied Cedric and kept him silent during this discussion. 
Gratified pride, resentment, embarrassment, chased each 
other over his broad and open brow, like the shadow of 
clouds drifting over a harvest-field; while his attendants, 
on whom the name of the sixth knight seemed to produce 
an effect almost electrical, hung in suspense upon their 
master’s looks. But when Bowena spoke, the sound of 
her voice seemed to startle him from his silence. 

“Lady,” said Cedric,“this beseems not; were furthei 
pledge necessary, I myself, offended, and justly offended, 
as I am, would yet gage my honour for the honour of 
Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle is complete, even 
according to the fantastic fashions of Norman chivalry. 
— Is it not, Father Aymer ? ” 

“It is,” replied the Prior; “and the blessed relic and 
rich chain will I bestow safely in the treasury of our 
convent, until the decision of this warlike challenge.” 


1VANH0E. 


49 


Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and 
again, and after many genuflections and muttered prayers, 
he delivered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose, his at¬ 
tendant monk, while he himself swept up with less cere¬ 
mony, but perhaps with no less internal satisfaction, the 
golden chain, and bestowed it in a pouch lined with per¬ 
fumed leather, which opened under his arm. “ And now, 
Sir Cedric, ; ” he said, “ my ears are chiming vespers with 
the strength of your good wine, — permit us another 
pledge to the welfare of the Lady Bowena, and indulge us 
with liberty to pass to our repose.” 

“ By the rood of Bromholme,” said the Saxon, “ you do 
but small credit to your fame, Sir Prior! Beport speaks 
you a bonny monk, that would hear the matin chime ere 
he quitted his bowl; and, old as I am, I feared to have 
shame in encountering you. But, by my faith, a Saxon 
boy of twelve, in my time, would not so soon have relin¬ 
quished his goblet.” 

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persever¬ 
ing in the course of temperance which he had adopted. 
He was not only a professional peacemaker, but from 
practice a hater of all feuds and brawls. It was not 
altogether from a love to his neighbour, or to himself, or 
from a mixture of both. On the present occasion, he had 
an instinctive apprehension of the fiery temper of the 
Saxon, and saw the danger that the reckless and pre- 
sumptuous spirit of which his companion had already 
given so many proofs, might at length produce some dis¬ 
agreeable explosion. He therefore gently insinuated the 
incapacity of the native of any other country to engage 
in the genial conflict of the bowl with the hardy and 
strong-headed Saxons; something he mentioned, but 
slightly, about his own holy character, and ended by 
pressing his proposal to depart to repose. 

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and the 
guests, after making deep obeisance to their landlord and 
to the Lady Bowena, arose and mingled in the hall, while 
the heads of the family, by separate doors, retired with 
their attendants. 

“ Unbelieving dog,” said the Templar to Isaac the Jew. 


50 


IVANHOE. 


as he passed him in the throng, “dost thou bend th^ 
course to the tournament ? ” 

“ I do so propose/’ replied Isaac, bowing in all humil¬ 
ity, “ if it please your reverend valour.” 

“Ay,” said the Knight, “to gnaw the bowels of oui 
nobles with usury, and to gull women and boys with 
gauds and toys — I warrant thee store of shekels in thy 
Jewish scrip.” 

“Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling, — so 
help me the God of Abraham!” said the Jew, clasping 
his hands. “I go but to seek the assistance of some 
brethren of my tribe to aid me to pay the fine which the 
Exchequer of the Jews have imposed upon me, Father 
Jacob be my speed! I am an impoverished wretch — 
the very gaberdine I wear is borrowed from Reuben of 
Tadcaster.” 

The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, “Beshrew 
thee for a false-hearted liar! ” and passing onward, as if 
disdaining farther conference, he communed with his 
Moslem slaves in a language unknown to the bystanders. 
The poor Israelite seemed so staggered by the address of 
the military monk, that the Templar had passed on to the 
extremity of the hall ere he raised his head from the 
humble posture which he had assumed, so far as to be 
sensible of his departure. And when he did look around, 
it was with the astonished air of one at whose feet a 
thunderbolt has just burst, and who hears still the 
astounding report ringing in his ears. 

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshalled 
to their sleeping apartments by the steward and the cup¬ 
bearer, each attended by two torch-bearers and two ser¬ 
vants carrying refreshments, while servants of inferior 
condition indicated to their retinue and to the other 
guests their respective places of repose. 


IVANHOE. 


51 


CHAPTER VI. 

To buy his favour I extend this friendship *. 

If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Merchant of Venice. 

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, 
passed through the intricate combination of apartments 
of this large and irregular mansion, the cupbearer, coming 
behind him, whispered in his ear, that if he had no objec¬ 
tion to a cup of good mead in his apartment, there were 
many domestics in that family who would gladly hear the 
news he had brought from the Holy Land, and particu¬ 
larly that which concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. 
Wamba presently appeared to urge the same request, 
observing that a cup after midnight was worth three after 
curfew. Without disputing a maxim urged by such grave 
authority, the Palmer thanked them for their courtesy, 
but observed that he had included in his religious vow an 
obligation never to speak in the kitchen on matters which 
were prohibited in the hall. 

“That vow,” said Wamba to the cupbearer, “would 
scarce suijb a serving-man.” 

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure. 
“ I thought to have lodged him in the solere chamber,” 
said he; “ but since he is so unsocial to Christians, e’en 
let him take the next stall to Isaac the Jew’s. — Anwold,” 
said he to the torch-bearer, “carry the Pilgrim to the 
southern cell. — I give you good night,” he added, “ Sir 
Palmer, with small thanks for short courtesy.” 

“Good night, and Our Lady’s benison! ” said the 
Palmer, with composure; and his guide moved forward. 

In a small ante-chamber, into which several doors 
opened, and which was lighted by a small iron lamp, they 
met a second interruption from the waiting-maid of 
Rowena, who, saying in a tone of authority that her mis¬ 
tress desired to speak with the Palmer, took the torch 
from the hand of Anwold, and bidding him await her 


52 


IVANHOE. 


return, made a sign to the Palmer to follow. Apparently 
he did not think it proper to decline this invitation as he 
had done the former; for, though his gesture indicated 
some surprise at the summons, he obeyed it without 
answer or remonstrance. 

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of 
which was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to 
the apartment of the Lady Rowena, the rude magnifi¬ 
cence of which corresponded to the respect which was 
paid to her by the lord of the mansion. The walls were 
covered with embroidered hangings, on which different- 
coloured silks, interwoven with gold and silver threads, 
had been employed, with all the art of which the age 
was capable, to represent the sports of hunting and 
hawking. The bed was adorned with the same rich tap¬ 
estry, and surrounded with curtains dyed with purple. 
The seats had also their stained coverings, and one, 
which was higher than the rest, was accommodated with 
a footstool of ivory, curiously carved. 

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great 
waxen torches, served to illuminate this apartment. Yet 
let not modern beauty envy the magnificence of a Saxon 
princess. The walls of the apartment were so ill-finished 
and so full of crevices, that the rich hangings shook to 
the night blast, and, in despite of a sort of screen in¬ 
tended to protect them from the wind, the flame of the 
torches streamed sideways into the air, like the unfurled 
pennon of a chieftain. Magnificence there was, with 
some rude attempt at taste; but of comfort there was 
little, and, being unknown, it was unmissed. 

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants stand¬ 
ing at her back, and arranging her hair ere she lay down to 
rest, was seated in the sort of throne already mentioned, 
and looked as if born to exact general homage. The Pil¬ 
grim acknowledged her claim to it by a low genuflection. 

“ Rise, Palmer,” said she, graciously. “ The defender 
of the absent has a right to favourable reception from all 
who value truth and honour manhood.” She then said 
to her train, “Retire, excepting only Elgitha; I would 
speak with this holy Pilgrim.” 


% 



t 


















































































































IVANHOE. 


53 


The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired 
to its further extremity, and sat down on a small bench 
against the wall, where they remained mute as statues, 
though at such a distance that their whispers could not 
have interrupted the conversation of their mistress. 

“Pilgrim,” said the lady, after a moment’s pause, dur¬ 
ing which she seemed uncertain how to address him, 
“ you this night mentioned a name — I mean,” she said, 
with a degree of effort, “ the name of Ivanhoe — in the 
halls where by nature and kindred it should have sounded 
most acceptably ; and yet such is the perverse course of 
fate, that of many whose hearts must have throbbed at 
the sound, I only dare ask you where, and in what con¬ 
dition, you left him of whom you spoke? — We heard 
that, having remained in Palestine, on account of his 
impaired health, after the departure of the English army, 
he had experienced the persecution of the Erench faction, 
to whom the Templars are known to be attached.” 

“ I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered 
the Palmer, with a troubled voice. “ I would I knew 
him better, since you, lady, are interested in his fate. 
He hath, I believe, surmounted the persecution of his 
enemies in Palestine, and is on the eve of returning to 
England, where you, lady, must know better than I what 
is his chance of happiness.” 

The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more par¬ 
ticularly when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected 
in his native country, and whether he would not be 
exposed to great dangers by the road. On the first 
point, the Palmer professed ignorance; on the second, he 
said that the voyage might be safely made by the way 
of Venice and Genoa, and from thence through France to 
England. “ Ivanhoe,” he said, “ was so well acquainted 
with the language and manners of the Erench, that there 
was no fear of his incurring any hazard during that part 
of his travels.” 

“Would to God,” said the Lady Rowena, “he were 
here safely arrived, and able to bear arms in the ap¬ 
proaching tourney, in which the chivalry of this land are 
expected to display their address and valour. Should 


64 


IVANHOK 


Athelstane of Coningsburgh obtain the prize, Ivanhoe is 
like to hear evil tidings when he reaches 'England. — 
How looked he, stranger, when you last saw him ? Had 
disease laid her hand heavy upon his strength and 
comeliness ? ” 

“He was darker,” said the Palmer, “and thinner than 
when he came from Cyprus in the train of Cceur-de-Lion, 
and care seemed to sit heavy on his brow; but I ap¬ 
proached not his presence, because he is unknown to me.” 

“ He will,” said the lady, “ I fear, find little in his 
native land to clear those clouds from his countenance. 
Thanks, good Pilgrim, for your information concerning 
the companion of my childhood. — Maidens,” she said, 
“draw near — offer the sleeping-cup to this holy man, 
whom I will no longer detain from repose.” 

One of the maidens presented a silver cup containing 
a rich mixture of wine and spice, which Rowena barely 
put to her lips. It was then offered to the Palmer, who, 
after a low obeisance, tasted a few drops. 

“ Accept this alms, friend,” continued the lady, offer¬ 
ing a piece of gold, “ in acknowledgment of thy painful 
travail, and of the shrines thou hast visited.” 

The Palmer received the boon with another low rever¬ 
ence, and followed Elgitha out of the apartment. 

In the ante-room he found his attendant Anwold, who, 
taking the torch from the hand of the waiting-rnaid,-con¬ 
ducted him with more haste than ceremony to an exterior 
and ignoble part of the building, where a number of 
small apartments, or rather cells, served for sleeping- 
places to. the lower order of domestics, and to strangers 
of mean degree. 

“In which of these sleeps the Jew?” said the Pilgrim. 

“ The unbelieving dog,” answered Anwold, “ kennels 
in the cell next your holiness. — St. Dunstan, how it 
must be scraped and cleansed ere it be again lit for a 
Christian! ” 

“ And where sleeps Gurth, the swineherd ? ” said the 
stranger. 

“ Gurth,” replied the bondsman, “ sleeps in the cell on 
four right, as the Jew in that to your left; you serve tc 



IVANHOE. 


hfi 

keep the child of circumcision separate from the abomi¬ 
nation of his tribe. You might have occupied a more 
honourable place had you accepted of Oswald’s invita¬ 
tion.” 

“ It is as well as it is,” said the Palmer; “ the com¬ 
pany, even of a Jew, can hardly spread contamination 
through an oaken partition.” 

So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him, and 
taking the torch from the domestic’s hand, thanked him 
and wished him good night. Having shut the door of 
his cell, he placed the torch in a candlestick made of 
wood, and looked around his sleeping apartment, the 
furniture of which was of the most simple kind. It con¬ 
sisted of a rude wooden stool, and still ruder hutch or 
bed-frame, stuffed with clean straw, and accommodated 
with two or three sheepskins by w r ay of bed-clothes. 

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw 
himself, without taking off any part of his clothes, on 
this rude couch, and slept, or at least retained his recum¬ 
bent posture, till the earliest sunbeams found their way 
through the little grated window, which served at once 
to admit both air and light to his uncomfortable cell. 
He then started up, and after repeating his matins and 
adjusting his dress, he left it, and entered that of Isaac 
the Jew, lifting the latch as gently as he could. 

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a 
couch similar to that on which the Palmer himself had 
passed the night. Such parts of his dress as the Jew 
had laid aside on the preceding evening were disposed 
carefully around his person, as if to prevent the hazard 
of their being carried off during his slumbers. There was 
a trouble on his brow amounting almost to agony. His 
hands and arms moved convulsively, as if struggling 
with the nightmare; and besides several ejaculations in 
Hebrew, the following were distinctly heard in the Nor- 
man-English, or mixed language of the country: “For 
the sake of the God of Abraham, spare an unhappy old 
man! I am poor, I am penniless; should your irons 
wrench my limbs asunder, I could not gratify you! ”. 

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew’s vision. 


56 


IVANHOE. 


but stirred Mm with his pilgrim’s staff. The touch prob¬ 
ably associated, as is usual, with some of the apprehen¬ 
sions excited by his dream; for the old man started up, 
his grey hair standing almost erect upon his head, and 
huddling some part of his garments about him, while he 
held the detached pieces with the tenacious grasp of a 
falcon, he fixed upon the Palmer his keen black eyes, ex¬ 
pressive of wild surprise and of bodily apprehension. 

“ Fear nothing from me, Isaac,” said the Palmer, “ I 
come as your friend.” 

“ The God of Israel requite you,” said the Jew, greatly 
relieved; “ I dreamed — but Father Abraham be praised, 
it was but a dream ! ” Then, collecting himself, he added 
in his usual tone, “ And what may it be your pleasure to 
want at so early an hour with the poor J ew ? ” 

"It is to tell you,” said the Palmer, “that if you leave 
not this mansion instantly, and travel not with some 
haste, your journey may prove a dangerous one.” 

“ Holy father! ” said the Jew, “whom could it interest 
to endanger so poor a wretch as I am ? ” 

“ The purpose you can best guess,” said the Pilgrim *, 
" but rely on this, that when the Templar crossed the hall 
yesternight, he spoke to his Mussulman slaves in the Sara¬ 
cen language, which I well understand, and charged them 
this morning to watch the journey of the Jew, to seize upon 
him when at a convenient distance from the mansion, and 
to conduct him to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin or to 
that of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.” 

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror 
which seized upon the Jew at this information, and seemed 
at once to overpower his whole faculties. His arms fell 
down to his sides, and his head drooped on his breast, his 
knees bent under his weight, every nerve and muscle of 
his frame seemed to collapse and lose its energy, and he 
sunk at the foot of the Palmer, not in the fashion of one 
who intentionally stoops, kneels, or prostrates himself to 
excite compassion, but like a man borne down on all sides 
by the pressure of some invisible force, which crashes him 
to the earth without the. power of resistance. 

u Holy God of Abraham! ” was his first exclamation, 


IVANHOE. 


57 


folding and elevating his wrinkled hands, but without 
raising his grey head from the pavement; “ 0 holy Moses ! 
0 blessed Aaron! the dream is not dreamed for nought, 
and the vision cometh not in vain ! I feel their irons 
already tear my sinews! I feel the rack pass over my 
body like the saws, and harrows, and axes of iron over 
the men of Kabbah, and of the cities of the children of 
Ammon! ” 

“ Stand up, Isaac, and harken to me,” said the Palmer, 
who viewed the extremity of his distress with a compas¬ 
sion in which contempt was largely mingled; “ yon have 
cause for your terror, considering how your brethren have 
been used, in order to extort from them their hoards, both 
by princes and nobles; but stand up, I say, and I will 
point out to you the means of escape. Leave this man¬ 
sion instantly, while its inmates sleep sound after the 
last night’s revel. I will guide you by the secret paths 
of the forest, known as well to me as to any forester that 
ranges it, and I will not leave you till you are under safe 
conduct of some chief or baron going to the tournament, 
whose good-will you have probably the means of securing.” 

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape which 
this speech intimated, he began gradually, and inch by 
inch, as it were, to raise himself up from the ground, 
until he fairly rested upon his knees, throwing back his 
long grey hair and beard, and fixing his keen black 
eyes upon the Palmer’s face, with a look expressive at 
once of hope and fear, not unmingled with suspicion. 
But when he heard the concluding part of the sentence, 
his original terror appeared to revive in full force, and 
he dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, “ I possess 
the means of securing good-will! Alas ! there is but one 
road to the favour of a Christian, and how can the poor 
Jew find it, whom extortions have already reduced to the 
misery of Lazarus?” Then, as if suspicion had over¬ 
powered his other feelings, he suddenly exclaimed, “ For 
the love of God, young man, betray me not — for the 
sake of the Great Father who made us all, Jew as well 
as Gentile, Israelite and Ishmaelite, do me no treason! I 
have not means to secure the good-will of a Christian 


58 


IVAN HOE. 


beggar, were he rating it at a single penny.” As he 
spoke these last words, he raised himself and grasped 
the Palmer’s mantle with a look of the most earnest 
entreaty. The Pilgrim extricated himself, as if there 
were contamination in the touch. 

“ Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe,” 
he said, “ what interest have I to injure thee ? — In this 
dress I am vowed to poverty, nor do I change it for aught 
save a horse and a coat of mail. Yet think not that I care 
for thy company, or propose myself advantage by it; 
remain here if thou wilt — Cedric the Saxon may protect 
thee.” 

“Alas!” said the Jew, “he will not let me travel in 
his train — Saxon or Norman will be equally ashamed of 
the poor Israelite; and to travel by myself through the 
domains of Philip de Malvoisin and Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf — Good youth, I will go with you! Let us 
haste — let us gird up our loins — let us flee! —Here is 
thy staff, why wilt thou tarry ? ” 

“ I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the ur¬ 
gency of his companion; “ but I must secure the means of 
leaving this place; follow me.” 

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the 
reader is apprised, was occupied by Gurth, the swineherd. 

“ Arise, Gurth,” said the Pilgrim, “ arise quickly. Undo 
the postern gate, and let out the Jew and me.” 

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, 
gave him as much consequence in Saxon England as that I 
of Eumaeus in Ithaca, was offended at the familiar and • 
commanding tone assumed by the Palmer. “The Jew J 
leaving Rotherwood,” said he, raising himself on his elbow 
and looking superciliously at him, without quitting his ] 
pallet, “ and travelling in company with the Palmer to 
boot — ” 

“I should as soon have dreamt,” said Wamba, who 
entered the apartment at the instant, “ of his stealing away 
with a gammon of bacon.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down his head 
on the wooden log which served him for a pillow, “ both 
Jew and Gentile must be content to abide the opening of 



IVANHOE. 


59 


the great gate — we suffer no visitors to depart by stealth 
at these unseasonable hours.” 

“Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a commanding 
tone, “you will not, I think, refuse me that favour.” 

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent 
swineherd, and whispered something in his ear in Saxon. 
Gurth started up as if electrified. The Pilgrim, raising 
his finger in an attitude as if to express caution, added, 
“ Gurth, beware; thou art wont to be prudent. I say, 
undo the postern; thou shalt know more anon.” 

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba 
and the Jew followed, both wondering at the sudden 
change in the swineherd’s demeanour. 

“ My mule, my mule ! ” said the Jew, as soon as they 
stood without the postern. 

“ Fetch him his mule,” said the Pilgrim; “ and, hearest 
thou, let me have another that I may bear him company 
till he is beyond these parts. I will return it safely to 
some of Cedric’s train at Ashby. And do thou — ” he 
whispered the rest in Gurth’s ear. 

“ Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,” said 
Gurth, and instantly departed to execute the commission. 

“I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his comrade’s 
back was turned, “ what you Palmers learn in the Holy 
Land.” 

“To say our orisons, fool,” answered the Pilgrim, “to 
repent our sins, and to mortify ourselves with fastings, 
vigils, and long prayers.” 

“ Something more potent than that,” answered the 
Jester; “for when would repentance or prayer make 
Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade him to 
lend you a mule ? I trow you might as well have told 
his favourite black boar of thy vigils and penance, and 
wouldst have gotten as civil an answer.” 

“ Go to,” said the Pilgrim, “ thou art but a Saxon fool.” 

“Thou sayst well,” said the Jester; “had I been born 
a Norman, as I think thou art, I would have had luck on 
my side, and been next door to a wise man.” 

At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side 
of the moat with the mules. The travellers crossed the 


60 


IYANHOE. 


ditch upon a drawbridge of only two planks'' breadth, the 
narrowness of which was matched with the straitness of 
the postern, and with a little wicket in the exterior pali¬ 
sade, which gave access to the forest. No sooner had 
they reached the mjiles, than the Jew, with hasty and 
trembling hands, secured behind the saddle a small bag of 
blue buckram, which he took from under his cloak, con¬ 
taining, as he muttered, “ a change of raiment — only a 
change of raiment.” Then getting upon the animal with 
more alacrity and haste than could have been anticipated 
from his years, he lost no time in so disposing of the 
skirts of his gaberdine as to conceal completely from 
observation the burden which he had thus deposited 
en croupe. 

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reaching, 
as he departed, his hand to Gurth, who kissed it with the 
utmost possible veneration. The swineherd stood gazing 
after the travellers until they were lost under the boughs 
of the forest path, when he was disturbed from his reverie 
by the voice of Wamba. 

“Knowest thou,” said the Jester, “my good friend 
Gurth, that thou art strangely courteous and most un- 
wontedly pious on this summer morning? I would I 
were a black prior or a barefoot palmer, to avail myself 
of thy unwonted zeal and courtesy; certes, I would make 
more out of it than a kiss of the hand.” 

“ Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,” answered Gurth, 
“though thou arguest from appearances, and the wisest 
of us can do no more. — But it is time to look after my 
charge.” 

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended by 
the Jester. 

Meanwhile the travellers continued to press on their 
journey with a dispatch which argued the extremity of 
the Jew’s fears, since persons at his age are seldom fond 
of rapid motion. The Palmer, to whom every path and 
outlet in the wood appeared to be familiar, led the way 
through the most devious paths, and more than once 
excited anew the suspicion of the Israelite that he in¬ 
tended to betray him into some ambuscade of his enemies. 



I VAN HOE. 


61 


His doubts might have been indeed pardoned; for, 
except perhaps the flying fish, there was no race existing 
on the earth, in the air, or the waters, who were the object 
of such an unintermitting, general, and relentless perse¬ 
cution as the Jews of this period. Upon the slightest 
and most unreasonable pretences, as well as upon accusa¬ 
tions the most absurd and groundless, their persons and 
property were exposed to every turn of popular fury; for 
Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, however adverse these 
races were to each other, contended which should look 
with greatest detestation upon a people whom it was 
accounted a point of religion to hate, to revile, to despise, 
to plunder, and to persecute. The kings of the Norman 
race, and the independent nobles, who followed their 
example in all acts of tyranny, maintained against this 
devoted people a persecution of a more regular, calculated, 
and self-interested kind. It is a well-known story of 
King John, that he confined a wealthy Jew in one of the 
royal castles, and daily caused one of his teeth to be torn 
out, until, when the jaw of the unhappy Israelite was 
half disfurnished, he consented to pay a large sum, which 
it was the tyrant’s object to extort from him. The little 
ready money which was in the country was chiefly in 
possession of this persecuted people, and the nobility 
hesitated not to follow the example of their sovereign in 
wringing it from them by every species of oppression, 
and even personal torture. Yet the passive courage in¬ 
spired by the love of gain induced the Jews to dare the 
various evils to which they were subjected, in considera¬ 
tion of the immense profits which they were enabled to 
realise in a country naturally so wealthy as England. In 
spite of every kind of discouragement, and even of the 
special court of taxations already mentioned, called the 
Jews’ Exchequer, erected for the very purpose of despoil¬ 
ing and distressing them, the Jews increased, multiplied, 
and accumulated huge sums, which they transferred from 
one hand to another by means of bills of exchange — an 
invention for which commerce is said to be indebted to 
them, and which enabled them to transfer their wealth 
from land to land, that, when threatened with oppression 


62 


IVANHOE. 


in one country, their treasure might be secured in arv 
other. 

The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews, being thus in a 
measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism and tyranny 
of those under whom they lived, seemed to increase in 
proportion to the persecution with which they were 
visited; and the immense wealth they usually acquired 
in commerce, while it frequently placed them in danger, 
was at other times used to extend their influence, and to 
secure to them a certain degree of protection. On these 
terms they lived; and their character, influenced accord¬ 
ingly, was watchful, suspicious, and timid — yet obstinate, 
uncomplying, and skilful in evading the dangers to which 
they were exposed. 

When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid rate 
through many devious paths, the Palmer at length broke 
silence. 

“That large decayed oak,” he said, “ marks the bounda¬ 
ries over which Front-de-Boeuf claims authority; we are 
long since far from those of Malvoisin. There is now no 
fear of pursuit.” 

“ May the wheels of their chariots be taken off,” said 
the Jew, “ like those of the host of Pharaoh, that they 
may drive heavily ! — But leave me not, good Pilgrim. — 
Think but of that fierce and savage Templar, with his 
Saracen slaves; they will regard neither territory, nor 
manor, nor lordship.” 

“ Our road,” said the Palmer, “ should here separate; 
for it beseems not men of my character and thine to 
travel together longer than needs must be. Besides, 
what succour couldst thou have from me, a peaceful 
Pilgrim, against two armed heathens ? ” 

“ 0 good youth,” answered the Jew, “ thou canst defend 
me, and I know thou wouldst. Poor as I am, I will re¬ 
quite it — not with money, for money, so help me my 
Father Abraham! I have none; but — ” 

“ Money and recompense,” said the Palmer, interrupt¬ 
ing him, “I have already said I require not of thee. 
G-uide thee I can, and it may be, even in some sort de¬ 
fend thee; since to protect a Jew against a Saracen can 


I VAN HOE. 


63 


scarce be accounted unworthy of a Christian. Therefore, 
Jew, I will see thee safe under some fitting escort. We 
are now not far from the town of Sheffield, where thou 
mayest easily find many of thy tribe with whom to take 
refuge.” 

“The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good youth!” 
said the Jew; “in Sheffield I can harbour with my kins¬ 
man Zareth, and find some means of travelling forth with 
safety.” 

“Be it so,” said the Palmer; “at Sheffield then we 
part, and half an hour’s riding will bring us in sight of 
that town.” 

The half hour was spent in perfect silence on both 
parts; the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to address the 
Jew, except in case of absolute necessity, and the Jew 
not presuming to force a conversation with a person 
whose journey to the Holy Sepulchre gave a sort of sanc¬ 
tity to his character. They paused on the top of a gently 
rising bank, and the Pilgrim, pointing to the town of 
Sheffield, which lay beneath them, repeated the words, 
“ Here, then, we part.” 

“Hot till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,” said 
Isaac; “for I presume not to ask you to go with me to 
my kinsman Zareth’s, who might aid me with some means 
of repaying your good offices.” 

“ I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim, “ that I 
desire no recompense. If, among the huge list of thy 
debtors, thou wilt, for my sake, spare the gyves and the 
dungeon to some unhappy Christian who stands in thy 
danger, I shall hold this morning’s service to thee well 
bestowed.” 

“ Stay, stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his garment; 
“ something would I do more than this —- something for 
thyself. God knows the Jew is poor — yes, Isaac is the 
beggar of his tribe — but forgive me should I guess what 
thou most lackest at this moment.” 

“ If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, “ it is 
what thou canst not supply, wert thou as wealthy as thou 
sayst thou art poor.” 

“As I say! ” echoed the Jew. “Oh! believe it, I say 


64 


IVAKHOE. 


but the truth; I am a plundered, indebted, distressed 
man. Hard hands have wrung from me my goods, my 
money, my ships, and all that I possessed. — Yet I can 
tell thee what thou lackest, and, it may be, supply it too. 
Thy wish even now is for a horse and armour.” 

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards the 
Jew. “ What fiend prompted that guess ? ” said he, 
hastily. 

“No matter,” said the Jew, smiling, “so that it be a 
true one; and, as I can guess thy want, so I can supply 
it.” 

“But consider,” said the Palmer, “my character, my 
dress, my vow.” 

“I know you Christians,” replied the Jew, “and that 
the noblest of you will take the staff and sandal in super¬ 
stitious penance* and walk afoot to visit the graves of 
dead men.” 

“Blaspheme not, Jew ! ” said the Pilgrim, sternly. 

“Forgive me,” said the Jew; “I spoke rashly. But 
there dropt words from you last night and this morning 
that, like sparks from flint, showed the metal within; 
and in the bosom of that Palmer’s gown is hidden a 
knight’s chain and spurs of gold. They glanced as you 
stooped over my bed in the morning.” 

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. “Were thy 
garments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,” said he, 
“ what discoveries might not be made ? ” 

“No more of that,” said the Jew, changing colour; and 
drawing forth his writing materials in haste, as if to stop 
the conversation, he began to write upon a piece of paper 
which he supported on the top of his yellow cap, without 
dismounting from his mule. When he had finished, he 
delivered the scroll, which was in the Hebrew character, 
to the Pilgrim, saying, “ In the town of Leicester all men 
know the rich Jew, Kirjath Jairam of Lombardy; give 
him this scroll. He hath on sale six Milan harnesses, the 
worst would suit a crowned head—-ten goodly steeds, the 
worst might mount a king, were he to do battle for his 
throne. Of these he will give thee thy choice, with every¬ 
thing else that can furnish thee forth for the tournament; 


IVANHOE, 


65 


when it is over, thou wilt return them safely—unless thou 
shouldst have wherewith to pay their value to the owner.” 

“But, Isaac,” said the Pilgrim, smiling, “dost thou 
know that in these sports the arms and steed of the 
knight who is unhorsed are forfeit to his victor ? Now 
I may be unfortunate, and so lose what I cannot replace 
or repay.” 

The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this possibil¬ 
ity ; but collecting his courage, he replied hastily, “No 
— no — no. It is impossible — I will not think so. The 
blessing of Our Father will be upon thee. Thy lance will 
be powerful as the rod of Moses.” 

So saying, he was turning his mule’s head away, when 
the Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine. “Nay, 
but, Isaac, thou k no west not all the risk. The steed may 
be slain, the armour injured — for I will spare neither 
horse nor man. Besides, those of thy tribe give nothing 
for nothing; something there must be paid for their use.” 

The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a man in a 
fit of the colic; but his better feelings predominated over 
those which were most familiar to him. “I care not,” he 
said — “I care not; let me go. If there is damage, it will 
cost you nothing—if there is usage money, Kirjath Jairam 
will forgive it for the sake of his kinsman Isaac. Fare 
thee well! — Yet, hark thee, good youth,” said he, turn¬ 
ing about, “thrust thyself not too forward into this vain 
hurly-burly — I speak not for endangering the steed and 
coat of armour, but for the sake of thine own life and 
limbs.” 

“Gramercy for thy caution,” said the Palmer, again 
smiling; “ I will use thy courtesy frankly, and it will go 
hard with me but I will requite it.” 

They parted, and took different roads for the town of 
Sheffield. 


66 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTEB VII. 

Knights, with a long retinue of their squires. 

In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attires; 

One laced the helm, another held the lance, 

A third the shining buckler did advance. 

The courser paw’d the ground with restless feet, 

And snorting foam’d and champ’d the golden bit. 

The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride, 

Files in their hands, and hammers at their side ; 

And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields provide. 
The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands ; 

And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

The condition of the English nation was at this time 
sufficiently miserable. King Bichard was absent a pris¬ 
oner, and in the power of the perfidious and cruel Duke 
of Austria. Even the very place of his captivity was 
uncertain, and his fate but very imperfectly known to 
the generality of his subjects, who were, in the meantime, 
a prey to every species of subaltern oppression. 

Prince John, in league with Philip of Prance, Coeur-de- 
Lion’s mortal enemy, was using every species of influence 
with the Duke of Austria to prolong the captivity of his 
brother Bichard, to whom he stood indebted for so many 
favours. In the meantime, he was strengthening his own 
faction in the kingdom, of which he proposed to dis¬ 
pute the succession, in case of the King’s death, with the 
legitimate heir, Arthur Duke of Brittany, son of Geoffrey 
Plantagenet, the elder brother of John. This usurpation, 
it is well known, he afterwards effected. His own char¬ 
acter being light, profligate, and perfidious, John easily 
attached to his person and faction not only all who had 
reason to dread the resentment of Bichard for criminal 
proceedings during his absence, but also the numerous 
class of “lawless resolutes” whom the crusades had 
turned back on their country, accomplished in the vices 
of the East, impoverished in substance, and hardened in 
character, and who placed their hopes of harvest in civil 
commotion. 


I VAN HOE. 


67 


To these causes of public distress and- apprehension 
must be added the multitude of outlaws who, driven to 
despair by the oppression of the feudal nobility and the 
severe exercise of the forest laws, banded together in 
large gangs, and keeping possession of the forests and 
the wastes, set at defiance the justice and magistracy of 
the- country. The nobles themselves, each fortified within 
his own castle, and playing the petty sovereign over his 
own dominions, were the leaders of bands scarce less law¬ 
less and oppressive than those of the avowed depredators. 
To maintain these retainers, and to support the extrava¬ 
gance and magnificence which their pride induced them 
to affect, the nobility borrowed sums of money from the 
Jews at the most usurious interest, which gnawed into 
their estates like consuming cankers, scarce to be cured 
unless when circumstances gave them an opportunity of 
getting free by exercising upon their creditors some act 
of unprincipled violence. 

Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappy 
state of affairs, the people of England suffered deeply for 
the present, and had yet more dreadful cause to fear for 
the future. To augment their misery, a contagious dis¬ 
order of a dangerous nature spread through the land; 
and, rendered more virulent by the uncleanness, the in¬ 
different food, and the wretched lodging of the lower 
classes, swept off many, whose fate the survivors were 
tempted to envy, as exempting them from the evils which 
were to come. 

Yet, amid these accumulated distresses, the poor as 
well as the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble, in the 
event of a tournament, which was the grand spectacle of 
that age, felt as much interested as the half-starved citi¬ 
zen of Madrid, who has not a real left to buy provisions 
for his family, feels in the issue of a bull-feast. Neither 
duty nor infirmity could keep youth or age from such ex¬ 
hibitions. The Passage of Arms, as it was called, which 
was to take place at Ashby, in the county of Leicester, 
as champions of the first renown were to take the field 
in the presence of Prince John himself, who was expected 
to grace the lists, had attracted universal attention, and 


68 


IVANHOE. 


an immense confluence of persons of all ranks hastened 
upon the appointed morning to the place of combat. 

The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge of 
a wood, which approached to within a mile of the town 
of Ashby, was an extensive meadow of the finest and 
most beautiful green turf, surrounded on one side by 
the forest, and fringed on the other by straggling oak 
trees, some of which had grown to an immense size. The 
ground, as if fashioned on purpose for the martial dis¬ 
play which was intended, sloped gradually down on all 
sides to a level bottom, which was inclosed for the lists 
with strong palisades, forming a space of a quarter of a 
mile in length, and about half as broad. The form of 
the enclosure was an oblong square, save that the corners 
were considerably rounded off, in order to afford more 
convenience for the spectators. The openings for the 
entry of the combatants were at the northern and south¬ 
ern extremities of the lists, accessible by strong wooden 
gates, each wide enough to admit two horsemen riding 
abreast. At each of these portals were stationed two 
heralds, attended by six trumpets, as many pursuivants, 
and a strong body of men-at-arms, for maintaining order, 
and ascertaining the quality of the knights who proposed 
to engage in this martial game. 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, formed 
by a natural elevation of the ground, were pitched five 
magnificent pavilions, adorned with pennons of russet 
and black, the chosen colours of the five knights challeng¬ 
ers. The cords of the tents were of the same colour. 
Before each pavilion was suspended the shield of the 
knight by whom it was occupied, and beside it stood his 
squire, quaintly disguised as a salvage or silvan man, or 
in some other fantastic dress, according to the taste of 
his master, and the character he was pleased to assume 
during the game. The central pavilion, as the place of 
honour, had been assigned to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
whose renown in all games of chivalry, no less than his 
connexion with the knights who had undertaken this 
Passage of Arms, had occasioned him to be eagerly re¬ 
ceived into the company of the challengers, and even 


IVANHOE . 


69 


adopted as their chief and leader, though he had so re¬ 
cently joined them. On one side of his tent were pitched 
those of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf and Richard de Malvob 
sin, and on the other was the pavilion of Hugh de Grant- 
mesnil, a noble baron in the vicinity, whose ancestor had 
been Lord High Steward of England in the time of the 
Conqueror and his son William Rufus. Ralph de Vipont, 
a knight of St. John of Jerusalem, who had some ancient 
possessions at a place called Heather, near Ashby-de-la- 
Zouche, occupied the fifth pavilion. From the entrance 
into the lists a gently sloping passage, ten yards in 
breadth, led up to the platform on which the tents were 
pitched. It was strongly secured by a palisade on each 
side, as was the esplanade in front of the pavilions, and 
the whole was guarded by men-at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a similar 
entrance of thirty feet in breadth, at the extremity of 
which was a large inclosed space for such knights as 
might be disposed to enter the lists with the challengers, 
behind which were placed tents containing refreshments 
of every kind for their accommodation, with armourers, 
farriers, and other attendants, in readiness to give their 
services wherever they might be necessary. 

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by tem¬ 
porary galleries, spread with tapestry and carpets, and 
accommodated with cushions for the convenience of those 
ladies and nobles who were expected to attend the tour¬ 
nament. A narrow space betwixt these galleries and the 
lists gave accommodation for yeomanry and spectators of 
a better degree than the mere vulgar, and might be com¬ 
pared to the pit of a theatre. The promiscuous multitude 
arranged themselves upon large banks of turf prepared 
for the purpose, which, aided by the natural elevation of 
the ground, enabled them to overlook the galleries and 
obtain a fair view into the lists. Besides the accommoda¬ 
tion which these stations afforded, many hundreds had 
perched themselves on the branches of the trees which 
surrounded the meadow; and even the steeple of a coun 
try church, at some distance, was crowded with spectators. 

It only remains to notice respecting the general ar- 


70 


IVANHOE. 


rangement, that one gallery in the very centre of the 
eastern side of the lists, and consequently exactly oppo¬ 
site to the spot where the shock of the combat was to 
take place, was raised higher than the others, more richly 
decorated, and graced by a sort of throne and canopy, on 
which the royal arms were emblazoned. Squires, pages, 
and yeomen in rich liveries waited around this place of 
honour, which was designed for Prince John and his at¬ 
tendants. Opposite to this gallery was another, elevated 
to the same height, on the western side of the lists ; and 
more gaily, if less sumptuously, decorated than that des¬ 
tined for the Prince himself. A train of pages and of 
young maidens, the most beautiful who could be selected, 
gaily dressed in fancy habits of green and pink, sur¬ 
rounded a throne decorated in the same colours. Among 
pennons and flags bearing wounded hearts, burning hearts, 
bleeding hearts, bows and quivers, and all the common¬ 
place emblems of the triumphs of Cupid, a blazoned 
inscription informed the spectators that this seat of 
honour was designed for La Royne de la Beaulte et des 
Amours. But who was to represent the Queen of Beauty 
and of Love on the present occasion no one was prepared 
to guess. 

Meanwhile, spectators of every description thronged 
forward to occupy their respective stations, and not with¬ 
out many quarrels concerning those which they were 
entitled to hold. Some of these were settled by the men- 
at-arms with brief ceremony; the shafts of their battle- 
axes and pummels of their swords being readily employed 
as arguments to convince the more refractory. Others, 
which involved the rival claims of more elevated persons, 
were determined by the heralds, or by the two marshals 
of the field, William de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival, 
who, armed at all points, rode up and down the lists to 
enforce and preserve good order among the spectators. 

Gradually the galleries became filled with knights and 
nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long and rich-tinted 
mantles were contrasted with the gayer and more splen¬ 
did habits of the ladies, who, in a greater proportion than 
even the men themselves, thronged to witness a sport 


IVAN HOE. 


71 


which one would have thought too bloody and dangerous 
to afford their sex much pleasure. The lower and in¬ 
terior space was soon filled by substantial yeomen and 
burghers, and such of the lesser gentry as, from modesty, 
poverty, or dubious title, durst not assume any higher 
place. It was of course amongst these that the most 
frequent disputes for precedence occurred. 

“ Dog of an unbeliever,” said an old man, whose thread¬ 
bare tunic bore witness to his poverty, as his sword, and 
dagger, and golden chain intimated his pretensions to 
rank — “ whelp of a she-wolf! darest thou press upon a 
Christian, and a Norman gentleman of the blood of 
Montdidier ? ” 

This rough expostulation was addressed to no other 
than our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly and even mag¬ 
nificently dressed in a gaberdine ornamented with lace 
and lined with fur, was endeavouring to make place in 
the foremost row beneath the gallery for his daughter, 
the beautiful Rebecca, who had joined him at Ashby, and 
who was now hanging on her father’s arm, not a little 
terrified by the popular displeasure which seemed gener¬ 
ally excited by her parent’s presumption. But Isaac, 
though we have seen him sufficiently timid on other 
occasions, knew well that at present he had nothing to 
fear. It was not in places of general resort, or where 
their equals were assembled, that any avaricious or ma¬ 
levolent noble durst offer him injury. At such meetings 
the Jews were under the protection of the general law; 
and if that proved a weak assurance, it usually happened 
that there were among the persons assembled some 
barons who, for their own interested motives, were ready 
to act as their protectors. On the present occasion, Isaac 
felt more than usually confident, being aware that Prince 
John was even then in the very act of negotiating a large 
loan from the Jews of York, to be secured upon 
certain jewels and lands. Isaac’s own share in this 
transaction was considerable, and he well knew that the 
Prince’s eager desire to bring it to a conclusion would 
ensure him his protection in the dilemma in which he 
Stood. 


fro 
i n 


IVANHOE. 


Emboldened by these considerations, the Jew pursued 
his point, and jostled the Norman Christian without 
respect either to his descent, quality, or religion. The 
complaints of the old man, however, excited the indigna- 
tion of the bystanders. One of these, a stout, well-set 
yeoman, arrayed in Lincoln green, having twelve arrows 
stuck in his belt, with a baldric and badge of silver, and 
a bow of six feet length in his hand, turned short round, 
and while his countenance, which his constant exposure 
to weather had rendered brown as a hazel nut, grew 
darker with anger, he advised the Jew to remember that 
all the wealth he had acquired by sucking the blood of 
his miserable victims had but swelled him like a bloated 
spider, which might be overlooked while it kept in a 
corner, but would be crushed if it ventured into the light. 
This intimation, delivered in Norman-English with a firm 
voice and a stern aspect, made the Jew shrink back ; and 
he would have probably withdrawn himself altogether 
from a vicinity so dangerous, had not the attention of 
every one been called to the sudden entrance of Prince 
John, who at that moment entered the lists, attended by 
a numerous and gay train, consisting partly of laymen, 
partly of churchmen, as light in their dress, and as gay 
in their demeanour, as their companions. Among the 
latter was the Prior of Jorvaulx, in the most gallant trim 
which a dignitary of the church could venture to exhibit. 
Eur and gold were not spared in his garments; and the 
point of his boots, out-heroding the preposterous fashion 
of the time, turned up so very far as to be- attached not 
to his knees merely, but to his very girdle, and effectually 
prevented him from putting his foot into the stirrup. 
This, however, was a slight inconvenience to the gallant 
Abbot, who, perhaps even rejoicing in the opportunity to 
display his accomplished horsemanship before so many 
spectators, especially of the fair sex, dispensed with the 
use of these supports to a timid rider. The rest of Prince 
John’s retinue consisted of the favourite leaders of his 
mercenary troops, some marauding barons and profligate 
attendants upon the court, with several Knights Templars 
and Knights of St. John. 


IVANHOE. 


73 


It may be here remarked, that the knights of these two 
orders were accounted hostile to,King Richard, having 
adopted the side of Philip of Prance in the long train of 
disputes which took place in Palestine betwixt that mon¬ 
arch and the lion-hearted King of England. It was the 
well-known consequence of this discord that Pichardo 
repeated victories had been rendered fruitless, his roman¬ 
tic attempts to besiege Jerusalem disappointed, and the 
fruit of all the glory which he had acquired had dwindled 
into an uncertain truce with the Sultan Saladin. With 
the same policy which had dictated the conduct of their 
brethren in the Holy Land, the Templars and Hospitallers 
in England and Normandy attached themselves to the 
faction of Prince John, having little reason to desire the 
return of Richard to England, or the succession of Arthur, 
his legitimate heir. For the opposite reason, Prince John 
hated and contemned the few Saxon families of conse¬ 
quence which subsisted in England, and omitted no 
opportunity of mortifying and affronting them; being 
conscious that his person and pretensions were disliked 
by them, as well as by the greater part of the English 
commons, who feared farther innovation upon their rights 
and liberties from a sovereign of John’s licentious and 
tyrannical disposition. 

Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well mounted, 
and Splendidly dressed in crimson and in gold, bearing 
upon his hand a falcon, and having his head covered by 
a rich fur bonnet, adorned with a circle of precious stones, 
from which his long curled hair escaped and overspread 
his shoulders, Prince John, upon a grey and high-mettled 
palfrey, caracoled within the lists at the head of his 
jovial party, laughing loud with his train, and eyeing 
with all the boldness of royal criticism the beauties who 
adorned the lofty galleries. 

Those who remarked in the physiognomy of the Prince 
a dissolute audacity, mingled with extreme haughtiness 
and indifference to the feelings of others, could not yet 
deny to his countenance that sort of comeliness which 
belongs to an open set of features, well formed by nature, 
modelled by art to the usual rules of courtesy, yet so far 


74 


IVANHOE. 


frank and honest that they seemed as if they disclaimed 
to conceal the natural workings of the soul. Such an 
expression is often mistaken for manly frankness, when 
in truth it arises from the reckless indifference of a liber¬ 
tine disposition, conscious of superiority of birth, of 
wealth, or of some other adventitious advantage, totally 
unconnected with personal merit. To those who did 
not think so deeply, and they were the greater number 
by a hundred to onej the splendour of Prince John’s 
rheno (i.e., fur tippet), the richness of his cloak, lined 
with the most costly sables, his maroquin boots and golden 
spurs, together with the grace with which he managed 
his palfrey, were sufficient to merit clamorous applause. 

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the attention of 
the Prince was called by the commotion, not yet subsided, 
which had attended the ambitious movement of Isaac 
towards the higher places of the assembly. The quick 
eye of Prince John instantly recognised the Jew, but was 
much more agreeably attracted by the beautiful daughter 
of Zion, who, terrified by the tumult, clung close to the 
arm of her aged father. 

The figure of Rebecca might indeed have compared 
with the proudest beauties of England, even though it 
had been judged by as shrewd a connoisseur as Prince 
John. Her form was exquisitely symmetrical, and was 
shown to advantage by a sort of Eastern dress, which she 
wore according to the fashion of the females of her nation. 
Her turban of yellow silk suited well with the darkness 
of her complexion. The brilliancy of her eyes, the su¬ 
perb arch of her eyebrows, her well-formed aquiline nose, 
her teeth as white as pearl, and the profusion of her sable 
tresses, which, each arranged in its own little spiral of 
twisted curls, fell down upon as much of a lovely neck 
and bosom as a simarre of the richest Persian silk, ex¬ 
hibiting flowers in their natural colours embossed upon a 
purple ground, permitted to be visible — all these consti¬ 
tuted a combination of loveliness which yielded not to 
the most beautiful of the maidens who surrounded her. 
It is true, that of the golden and pearl-studded clasps 
which closed her vest from the throat to the waist, the 


IVANHOE. 


75 


three uppermost were left unfastened on account of the 
heat, which, something enlarged the prospect to which we 
allude. A diamond necklace, with pendants of inestima¬ 
ble value, were by this means also made more conspicu¬ 
ous. The feather of an ostrich, fastened in her turban 
by an agraffe set with brilliants, was another distinction 
of the beautiful Jewess, scoffed and sneered at by the 
proud dames who sat above her, but secretly envied by 
those who affected to deride them. 

“By the bald scalp of Abraham,” said Prince John, 
“yonder Jewess must be the very model of that perfec¬ 
tion whose charms drove frantic the wisest king that 
ever lived! What sayest thou, Prior Aymer ? — By the 
Temple of that wise king, which our wiser brother Bich¬ 
ard proved unable to recover, she is the very Bride of 
the Canticles ! ” 

“The Bose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley,” an¬ 
swered the Prior, in a sort of snuffling tone ; “ but your 
Grace must remember she is still but a Jewess.” 

“Ay!” added Prince John, without heeding him, “and 
there is my Mammon of unrighteousness too — the Mar¬ 
quis of Marks, the Baron of Byzants, contesting for place 
with penniless dogs, whose threadbare cloaks have not a 
single cross in their pouches to keep the devil from danc¬ 
ing there. By the body of St. Mark, my prince of sup¬ 
plies, with his lovely Jewess, shall have a place in the 
gallery ! — What is she, Isaac ? Thy wife or thy daugh¬ 
ter, that Eastern houri that thou lockest under thy arm 
as thou wouldst thy treasure-casket ? ” 

“My daughter Bebecca, so please your Grace,” an¬ 
swered Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embarrassed by 
the Prince’s salutation, in which, however, there was at 
least as much mockery as courtesy. 

“The wiser man thou,” said John, with a peal of laugh, 
ter, in which his gay followers obsequiously joined. “ But, 
daughter or wife, she should be preferred according to her 
beauty and thy merits. — Who sits above there ? ” he 
continued, bending his eye on the gallery. “Saxon 
churls, lolling at their lazy length! Out upon them ! let 
them sit close, and make room for my prince of usurers 


76 


IVANHOE. 


and his lovely daughter. I’ll make the hinds know they 
must share the high places of the synagogue with those 
whom the synagogue properly belongs to.” 

Those who occupied the gallery, to whom this injurious 
and impolite speech was addressed, were the family of 
Cedric the Saxon, with that of his ally and kinsman, 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh, a personage who, on account 
of his descent from the last Saxon monarchs of England, 
was held in the highest respect by all the Saxon natives 
of the north of England. But with the blood of this an¬ 
cient royal race many of their infirmities had descended 
to Athelstane. He was comely in countenance, bulky 
and strong in person, and in the flower of his age; yet 
inanimate in expression, dull-eyed, heavy-browed, inac¬ 
tive and sluggish in all his motions, and so slow in reso¬ 
lution, that the soubriquet of one of his ancestors was 
conferred upon him, and he was very generally called 
Athelstane the Unready. His friends — and he had 
many who, as well as Cedric, were passionately attached 
to him—contended that this sluggish temper arose not 
from want of courage, but from mere want of decision; 
others alleged that his hereditary vice of drunkenness 
had obscured his faculties, never of a very acute order, 
and that the passive courage and meek good-nature which 
remained behind were merely the dregs of a character that 
might have been deserving of praise, but of which all the 
valuable parts had flown off in the progress of a long course 
of brutal debauchery. 

It was to this person, such as we have described him, that 
the Prince addressed his imperious command to make place 
for Isaac and Rebecca. Athelstane, utterly confounded 
at an order which the manners and feelings of the times 
rendered so injuriously insulting, unwilling to obey, yet 
undetermined how to resist, opposed only the vis inertia?. 
to the will of John; and, without stirring or making any 
motion whatever of obedience, opened his large grey eyes 
and stared at the Prince with an astonishment which had 
in it something extremely ludicrous. But the impatient 
John regarded it in no such light. 

“ The Saxon porker,” he said, “ is either asleep or minds 


IVANHOE. 


77 


me not — prick him with your lance, De Bracy,” speaking 
to a knight who rode near him, the leader of a band of 
free companions, or condottieri ; that is, of mercenaries 
belonging to no particular nation, but attached for the 
time to any prince by whom they were paid. There was 
a murmur even among the attendants of Prince John; 
but De Bracy, whose profession freed him from all 
scruples, extended his long lance over the space which 
separated the gallery from the lists, and would have exe¬ 
cuted the commands of the Prince before Athelstane the 
Unready had recovered presence of mind sufficient even 
to draw back his person from the weapon, had not Cedric, 
as prompt as his companion was tardy, unsheathed, with 
the speed of lightning, the short sword which he wore, 
and at a single blow severed the point of the lance from 
the handle. The blood rushed into the countenance of 
Prince John. He swore one of his deepest oaths, and 
was about to utter some threat corresponding in violence, 
when he was diverted from his purpose, partly by his 
own attendants, who gathered around him conjuring him 
to be patient, partly by a general exclamation of the 
crowd, uttered in loud applause of the spirited conduct 
of Cedric. The Prince rolled his eyes in indignation, as 
if to collect some safe and easy victim; and chancing to 
encounter the firm glance of the same archer whom we 
have already noticed, and who seemed to persist in his 
gesture of applause, in spite of the frowning aspect which 
the Prince bent upon him, he demanded his reason for 
clamouring thus. 

“ I always add my hollo,” said the yeoman, “ when I 
see a good shot or a gallant blow.” 

“ Sayst thou ? ” answered the Prince ; “ then thou canst 
hit the white thyself, I’ll warrant.” 

“ A woodsman’s mark, and at woodsman’s distance, I 
can hit,” answered the yeoman. 

“ And Wat Tyrrel’s mark, at a hundred yards,” said a 
voice from behind, but by whom uttered could not be 
discerned. 

This allusion to the fate of William Rufus, his grand¬ 
father, at once incensed and alarmed Prince John. He 


78 


IVAN HOE. 


satisfied himself, however, with commanding the mem 
at-arms, who surrounded the lists, to keep an eye on the 
braggart, pointing to the yeoman. 

“ By St. Grizzel,” he added, “we will try his own skill, 
who is so ready to give his voice to the feats of others ! ” 
“ I shall not fly the trial,” said the yeoman, with the 
composure which marked his whole deportment. 

“ Meanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,” said the fiery 
Prince; “ for, by the light of Heaven, since I have said 
it, the Jew shall have his seat amongst ye! ” 

“ By no means, an it please yonr Grace ! — it is not fit 
for such as we to sit with the rulers of the land,” said 
the Jew, whose ambition for precedence, though it had 
led him to dispute place with the extenuated and impov¬ 
erished descendant of the line of Montdidier, by no means 
stimulated him to an intrusion upon the privileges of the 
wealthy Saxons. 

“ Up, infidel dog, when I command you,” said Prince 
John, “ or I will have thy swarthy hide stript off and 
tanned for horse-furniture ! ” 

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and 
narrow steps which led up to the gallery. 

“Let me see,” said the Prince, “ who dare stop him! ” 
fixing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimated his in¬ 
tention to hurl the Jew down headlong. 

The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba, 
who, springing betwixt his master and Isaac, and exclaim¬ 
ing in answer to the Prince’s defiance, “ Marry, that will 
I! ” opposed to the beard of the Jew a shield of brawn, 
which he plucked from beneath his cloak, and with which, 
doubtless, he had furnished himself lest the tournament 
should have proved longer than his appetite could endure 
abstinence. Finding the abomination of his tribe opposed 
to his very nose, while the Jester at the same time flour¬ 
ished his wooden sword above his head, the Jew recoiled, 
missed his footing, and rolled down the steps — an excel¬ 
lent jest to the spectators, who set up a loud laughter, 
in which Prince John and his attendants heartily joined. 

“Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,” said Wamba; “I 
have vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword and 


IVAN HOE. 


79 


shield,” he added, brandishing the brawn in one hand 
and the wooden sword in the other. 

“ Who and what art thou, noble champion ? ” said 
Prince John, still laughing. 

“ A fool by right of descent,” answered the Jester; “ I 
am Wamba, the son of Witless, who was the son of 
Weatherbrain, who was the son of an alderman.” 

“ Make room for the Jew in front of the lower ring,” 
said Prince John, not unwilling, perhaps, to seize an 
apology to desist from his original purpose; “ to place 
the vanquished beside the victor were false heraldry.” 

“ Knave upon fool were worse,” answered the Jester, 
“and Jew upon bacon worst of all.” 

“Grramercy ! good fellow,*’ cried Prince John, “thou 
pleasest me. —Here, Isaac, lend me a handful of byzants.” 

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid to refuse 
and unwilling to comply, fumbled in the furred bag which 
hung by his girdle, and was perhaps endeavouring to 
ascertain how few coins might pass for a handful, the 
Prince stooped from his jennet and settled Isaac’s doubts 
by snatching the pouch itself from his side ; and flinging 
to Wamba a couple of the gold pieces which it contained, 
he pursued his career round the lists, leaving the Jew to 
the derision of those around him, and himself receiving 
as much applause from the spectators as if he had done 
some honest and honourable action. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

At this the challenger with fierce defy 
His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply; 

With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 
Their visors closed, their lances in the rest, 

Or at the helmet pointed or the crest, 

They vanish from the barrier, speed the race, 

And spurring, see decrease the middle space. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

In the midst of Prince John’s cavalcade, he suddenly 
stopt, and appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx, declared 
the principal business of the day had been forgotten. 


80 


IVANHOE. 


“ By my halidom,” said he, “ we have neglected, Sir 
Prior, to name the fair Sovereign of Love and of Beauty, 
by whose white hand the palm is to be distributed. For 
my part, I am liberal in my ideas, and I care not if I gfve 
my vote for the black-eyed Rebecca.” 

“ Holy Virgin,” answered the Prior, turning up his 
eyes in horror, “a Jewess!—We should deserve to be 
stoned out of the lists; and I am not yet old enough to 
be a martyr. Besides, I swear by my patron saint that 
she is far inferior to the lovely Saxon, Rowena.” 

“ Saxon or Jew,” answered the Prince, “ Saxon or Jew, 
dog or hog, what matters it! I say, name Rebecca, were 
it only to mortify the Saxon churls.” 

A murmur arose even among his own immediate 
attendants. 

“This passes a jest, my lord,” said De Bracy; “no 
knight here will lay lance in rest if such an insult is 
attempted.” 

“ It is the mere wantonness of insult,” said one of the 
oldest and most important of Prince John’s followers, 
Waldemar Fitzurse, “and if your Grace attempt it, can¬ 
not but prove ruinous to your projects.” 

“ I entertained you, sir,” said John, reining up his 
palfrey haughtily, “for my follower, but not for my 
counsellor.” 

“ Those who follow your Grace in the paths which you 
tread,” said Waldemar, but speaking in a low voice, 
“ acquire the right of counsellors ; for your interest and 
safety are not more deeply gaged than our own.” 

From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw the 
necessity of acquiescence. “I did but jest,” he said; 
“and you turn upon me like so many adders! Name 
whom you will, in the fiend’s name, and please your¬ 
selves.” 

“Nay, nay,” said De Bracy, “let the fair sovereign’s 
throne remain unoccupied until the conqueror shall be 
named, and then let him choose the lady by whom it 
shall be filled. It will add another grace to his triumph, 
and teach fair ladies to prize the love of valiant knights, 
who can exalt them to such distinction.” 


IVAN HOE. 


81 


u If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize,” said the 
Prior, “ I will gage my rosary that I name the Sovereign 
of Love and Beauty.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered De Bracy, “ is a good lance; 
but there are others around these lists, Sir Prior, who 
will not fear to encounter him.” 

“ Silence, sirs,” said Waldemar, “ and let the Prince 
assume his seat. The knights and spectators are alike 
impatient, the time advances, and highly fit it is that 
the sports should commence.” 

Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had in Walde¬ 
mar Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favourite minis¬ 
ter, who, in serving his sovereign, must always do so in 
his own way. The Prince acquiesced, however, although 
his disposition was precisely of that kind which is apt 
to be obstinate upon trifles, and, assuming his throne, 
and being surrounded by his followers, gave signal to 
the heralds to proclaim the laws of the tournament, 
which were briefly as follows: 

First, the five challengers were to undertake all comers. 

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat might, if he 
pleased, select a special antagonist from among the chal¬ 
lengers, by touching his shield. If he did so with the 
reverse of his lance, the trial of skill was made with 
what were called the arms of courtesy, that is, with 
lances at whose extremity a piece of round flat board 
was fixed, so that no danger was encountered, save from 
the shock of the horses and riders. But if the shield 
was touched with the sharp end of the lance, the combat 
was understood to be at outrance, that is, the knights 
were to fight with sharp weapons, as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplished 
their vow, by each of them breaking five lances, the 
Prince was to declare the victor in the first day’s tourney, 
who should receive as prize a war-horse of exquisite 
beauty and matchless strength; and in addition to this 
reward of valour, it was now declared, he should have 
the peculiar honour of naming the Queen of Love and 
Beauty, by whom the prize should be given on the ensu¬ 
ing day. Fourthly, it was announced that, on the second 


82 


IVANHOE. 


day, there should be a general tournament, in which all 
the knights present, who were desirous to win praise, 
might take part; and being divided into two bands, of 
equal numbers, might fight it out manfully until the 
signal was given by Prince John to cease the combat. 
The elected Queen of Love and Beauty was then to crown 
the knight whom the Prince should adjudge to have borne 
himself best in this second day, with a coronet com¬ 
posed of thin gold plate, cut into the shape of a laurel 
crown. On this second day the knightly games ceased. 
But on that which was to follow, feafs of archery, of bull¬ 
baiting, and other popular amusements were to be prac¬ 
tised, for the more immediate amusement of the populace. 
In this manner did Prince John endeavour to lay the 
foundation of a popularity which he was perpetually 
throwing down by some inconsiderate act of wanton 
aggression upon the feelings and prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. 
The sloping galleries were crowded with all that was 
noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in the northern and 
midland parts of England; and the contrast of the vari¬ 
ous dresses of these dignified spectators rendered the 
view as gay as it was rich, while the interior and lower 
space, filled with the substantial burgesses and yeomen 
of merry England, formed, in their more plain attire, a 
dark fringe, or border, around this circle of brilliant em¬ 
broidery, relieving, and at the same time setting off, its 
splendour. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their 
usual cry of “ Largesse, largesse, gallant knights ! ” and 
gold and silver pieces were showered on them from the 
galleries, it being a high point of chivalry to exhibit lib¬ 
erality towards those whom the age accounted at once the 
secretaries and the historians of honour. The bounty of the 
spectators was acknowledged by the customary shouts of 
“ Love of ladies — Death of champions — Honour to the 
generous — Glory to the brave ! ” To which the more 
humble spectators added their acclamations, and a num¬ 
erous band of trumpeters the flourish of their martial 
instruments. When these sounds had ceased, the heralds 


IVANHOE. 


83 


withdrew from the lists in gay and glittering proces¬ 
sion, and none remained within them save the marshals 
of the field, who, armed cap-a-pie, sat on horseback, 
motionless as statues, at the opposite ends of the lists. 
Meantime, the enclosed space at the northern extremity 
of the lists, large as it was, was now completely crowded 
with knights desirous to prove their skill against the 
challengers, and, when viewed from the galleries, pre¬ 
sented the appearance of a sea of waving plumage, in¬ 
termixed with glistening helmets and tall lances, to the 
extremities of which were, in many cases, attached small 
pennons of about a span’s breadth, which, fluttering in 
the air as the breeze caught them, joined with the rest¬ 
less motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene. 

At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, 
chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the area; a single 
champion riding in front, and the other four following in 
pairs. All were splendidly armed, and my Saxon author¬ 
ity (in the Wardour Manuscript) records at great length 
their devices, their colours, and the embroidery of their 
horse trappings. It is unnecessary to be particular on 
these subjects. To borrow lines from a contemporary 
poet, who has written but too little — 

“ The knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust, 

Their souls are with the saints, we trust.” 

Their escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls 
of their castles. Their castles themselves are but green 
mounds and shattered ruins—-the place that once knew 
them knows them no more — nay, many a race since 
theirs has died out and been forgotten in the very land 
which they occupied with all the authority of feudal pro¬ 
prietors and feudal lords. What, then, would it avail the 
reader to know their names, or the evanescent symbols 
of their martial rank ? 

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which 
awaited their names and feats, the champions advanced 
through the lists, restraining their fiery steeds, and com¬ 
pelling them to move slowly, while, at the same time, 


84 


IVANHOE. 


they exhibited their paces, together with the grace and 
dexterity of the riders. As the procession entered the 
lists, the sound of a wild barbaric music was heard from 
behind the tents of the challengers, where the performers 
were concealed. It was of Eastern origin, having been 
brought from the Holy Land; and the mixture of the 
cymbals and bells seemed to bid welcome at once, and 
defiance, to the knights as they advanced. With the eyes 
of an immense concourse of spectators fixed upon them, 
the five knights advanced up the platform upon which 
the tents of the challengers stood, and there separating 
themselves, each touched slightly, and with the re¬ 
verse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist to whom 
he wished to oppose himself. The lower orders of spec¬ 
tators in general — nay, many of the higher class, and it 
is even said several of the ladies — were rather disap¬ 
pointed at the champions choosing the arms of courtesy. 
For the same sort of persons who, in the present day, 
applaud most highly the deepest tragedies were then 
interested in a tournament exactly in proportion to the 
danger incurred by the champions engaged. 

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the cham¬ 
pions retreated to the extremity of the lists, where they 
remained drawn up in a line; while the challengers, 
sallying each from his pavilion, mounted their horses, 
and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert, descended from 
the platform and opposed themselves individually to the 
knights who had touched their respective shields. 

At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they started 
out against each other at full gallop; and such was the 
superior dexterity or good fortune of the challengers, that 
those opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and Front-de- 
Boeuf rolled on the ground. The antagonist of Grant- 
mesnil, instead of bearing his lance-point fair against the 
crest or the shield of his enemy, swerved so much from 
the direct line as to break the weapon athwart the person 
of his opponent — a circumstance which was accounted 
more disgraceful than that of being actually unhorsed, 
because the latter might happen from a jcident, whereas 
the former evinced awkwardness and want of manage- 


IVANHOE. 


85 


uient of the weapon and of the horse. The fifth knight 
alone maintained the nonour of his party, and parted 
fairly with the Knight of St. John, both splintering their 
lances without advantage on either side. 

The shouts of the multitude, together with the acclama¬ 
tions of the heralds and the clangour of the trumpets, 
announced the triumph of the victors and the defeat of 
the vanquished. The former retreated to their pavilions, 
and the latter, gathering themselves up as they could, 
withdrew from the lists in disgrace and dejection, to 
agree with their victors concerning the redemption of 
their arms and their horses, which, according to the laws 
of the tournament, they had forfeited. The fifth of their 
number alone tarried in the lists long enough to be 
greeted by the applauses of the spectators, amongst whom 
he retreated, to the aggravation, doubtless, of his com¬ 
panions’ mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the field; 
and although they had various success, yet, upon the 
whole, the advantage decidedly remained with the chal¬ 
lengers, not one of whom lost his seat or swerved from his 
charge — misfortunes which befell one or two of their 
antagonists in each encounter. The spirits, therefore, of 
those opposed to them seemed to be considerably damped 
by their continued success. Three knights only appeared 
on the fourth entry, who, avoiding the shields of Bois- 
Guilbert and Front-de-Boeuf, contented themselves with 
touching those of the three other knights who had not alto¬ 
gether manifested the same strength and dexterity. This 
rolitic selection did not alter the fortune of the field: the 
challengers were still successful. One of .their antago¬ 
nists was overthrown; and both the others failed in the 
attaint , that is, in striking the helmet and shield of their 
antagonist firmly and strongly, with the lance held in a 
direct line, so that the weapon might break unless the 
champion was overthrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a considerable 
pause; nor did it appear that any one was very desirous 
of renewing the contest. The spectators murmured 
among themselves ; for, among the challengers, Malvoi- 


86 


IVANHOE. 


sin and Eront-de-Boeuf were unpopular from their char¬ 
acters, and the others, except Grantmesnil, were disliked 
as strangers and foreigners. 

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction 
so keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, in each advan¬ 
tage gained by the Norman challengers, a repeated tri¬ 
umph over the honour of England. His own education 
had taught him no skill in the games of chivalry, al¬ 
though, with the arms of his Saxon ancestors, he had 
manifested himself, on many occasions, a brave and 
determined soldier. He looked anxiously to Athelstane, 
who had learned the accomplishments of the age, as if 
desiring that he should make some personal effort to 
recover the victory which was passing into the hands of 
the Templar and his associates. But, though both stout 
of heart and strong of person, Athelstane had a disposi¬ 
tion too inert and unambitious to make the exertions 
which Cedric seemed to expect from him. 

“The day is against England, my lord/’said Cedric, 
in a marked tone; “are you not tempted to take the 
lance ? ” 

“ I shall tilt to-morrow,” answered Athelstane, “ in the 
m&lee; it is not worth while for me to arm myself to-day.” 

Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It con¬ 
tained the Norman word m&lee (to express the general 
conflict), and it evinced some indifference to the honour 
of the country; but it was spoken by Athelstane, whom 
he held in such profound respect that he would not trust 
himself to canvass his motives or his foibles. Moreover, 
he had no time to make any remark, for Wamba thrust 
in his word, observing, “It was better, though scarce 
easier, to be the best man among a hundred than the 
best man of two.” 

Athelstane took the observation as a serious compli¬ 
ment; but Cedric, who better understood the Jester’s 
meaning, darted at him a severe and menacing look ; and 
lucky it was for Wamba, perhaps, that the time and 
place prevented his receiving, notwithstanding his place 
and service, more sensible marks of his master’s resent- 
ment. 


IVANHOE. 


87 


The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted, 
excepting by the voices cf the heralds exclaiming, “ Love 
of ladies, splintering of lances! stand forth, gallant 
knights, fair eyes look upon your deeds!” 

The music also of the challengers breathed from time 
to time wild bursts expressive of triumph or defiance, 
while the clowns grudged a holiday which seemed to pass 
away in inactivity; and old knights and nobles lamented 
in whispers the decay of martial spirit, spoke of the 
triumphs of their younger days, but agreed that the land 
did not now supply dames of such transcendent beauty 
a,s had animated the jousts of former times. Prince 
John began to talk to his attendants about making ready 
the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the prize to 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a single spear, over¬ 
thrown two knights and foiled a third. 

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers 
concluded one of those long and high flourishes with which 
they had broken the silence of the lists, it was answered 
by a solitary trumpet, which breathed a note of defiance 
from the northern extremity. All eyes were turned to 
see the new champion which these sounds announced, 
and no sooner were the barriers opened than he paced 
into the lists. As far as could be judged of a man sheathed 
in armour, the new adventurer did not greatly exceed the 
middle size, and seemed to be rather slender than strongly 
made. His suit of armour was formed of steel, richly 
inlaid with gold, and the device on his shield was a young- 
oak tree pulled up by the roots, with the Spanish word 
Desdichctdo, signifying Disinherited. He was mounted 
on a gallant black horse, and as he passed through the 
lists he gracefully saluted the Prince and the ladies by 
lowering his lance. The dexterity with which he man¬ 
aged his steed, and something of youthful grace which he 
displayed in his manner, won him the favour of the mul¬ 
titude, which some of the lower classes expressed by call¬ 
ing out, “ Touch Ralph de Vipont’s shield — touch the 
Hospitaller’s shield 5 he has the least sure seat, he is ycui 
cheapest bargain.” 

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant 


88 


IVAN HOE. 


hints, ascended the platform by the sloping alley which 
led to it from the lists, and to the astonishment of all 
present, riding straight np to the central pavilion, struck 
with the sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian d« 
Bois-Guilbert until it rang again. All stood astonished 
at his presumption, but none more than the redoubted 
knight whom he had thus defied to mortal combat, and 
who, little expecting so rude a challenge, was standing 
carelessly at the door of the pavilion. 

“ Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the Tem¬ 
plar, “ and have you heard mass this morning, that you 
peril your life so frankly ? ” 

“ I am fitter to meet death than thou art,” answered 
the Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger 
had recorded himself in the books of the tourney. 

“ Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
“ and look your last upon the sun; for this night thou 
shalt sleep in paradise.” 

“ Gramercy for thy courtesy,” replied the Disinherited 
Knight, “ and to requite it, I advise thee to take a fresh 
horse and a new lance, for by my honour you will need 
both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined 
his horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, 
and compelled him in the same manner to move backward 
through the lists, till he reached the northern extremity, 
where he remained stationary, in expectation of his an¬ 
tagonist. This feat of horsemanship again attracted the 
applause of the multitude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precautions 
which he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not 
neglect his advice; for his honour was too nearly con¬ 
cerned to permit his neglecting any means which might 
ensure victory over his presumptuous opponent. He 
changed his horse for a proved and fresh one of great 
strength and spirit. He chose a new and tough spear, 
lest the wood of the former might have been strained in 
the previous encounters he had sustained. Lastly, he 
laid aside his shield, which had received some little 
damage, and received another from his squires. His first 

































































IVANHOE. 


89 


had only borne the general device of his rider, represent* 
ing two knights riding upon one horse, an emblem ex¬ 
pressive of the original humility and poverty of the Tem¬ 
plars, qualities which they had since exchanged for the 
arrogance and wealth that finally occasioned their sup¬ 
pression. Bois-G-uilbert’s new shield bore a raven in full 
flight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, 
Gave le Corbeau. 

When the two champions stood opposed to each other 
at the two extremities of the lists, the public expectation 
was strained to the highest pitch. Few augured the pos¬ 
sibility that the encounter could terminate well for the 
Disinherited Knight; yet his courage and gallantry se¬ 
cured the general good wishes of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than the 
champions vanished from their posts with the speed of 
lightning, and closed in the centre of the lists with the 
shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers up 
to the very grasp, and it seemed at the moment that both 
knights had fallen, for the shock had made each horse 
recoil backwards upon its haunches. The address of the 
riders recovered their steeds by use of the bridle and 
spur; and having glared on each other for an instant 
with eyes which seemed to flash fire through the bars of 
their visors, each made a demi-volte, and, retiring to the 
extremity of the lists, received a fresh lance from the 
attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and 
handkerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested the in¬ 
terest taken by the spectators in this encounter — the 
most equal, as well as the best performed, which had 
graced the day. But no sooner had the knights resumed 
their station than the clamour of applause was hushed 
into a silence so deep and so dead that it seemed the mul¬ 
titude were afraid even to breathe. 

A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the 
combatants and their horses might recover breath, Prince 
John with his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound 
the onset. The champions a second time sprung from 
fcheir stations, and closed in the centre of the lists, with 


90 


IVANHOE . 


the same speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, 
but not the same equal fortune as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the 
centre of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fair and 
forcibly that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited 
Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, that 
champion had, in the beginning of his career, directed the 
point of his lance towards Bois-Guilbert’s shield, but, 
changing his aim almost in the moment of encounter, he 
addressed it to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, 
but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresist¬ 
ible. Fair and true he hit the Norman on the visor, 
where his lance’s point kept hold of the bars. Yet, even 
at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high repu¬ 
tation; and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he 
might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, 
saddle, horse, and man rolled on the ground under a cloud 
of dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed 
was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and, 
stung with madness, both at his disgrace and at the ac¬ 
clamations with which it was hailed by the spectators, 
he drew his sword and waved it in defiance of his 
conqueror. The Disinherited Knight sprung from his 
steed, and also unsheathed his sword. The marshals of 
the field, however, spurred their horses between them, 
and reminded them that the laws of the tournament 
did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of 
encounter. 

“ We shall meet again, I trust,” said the Templar, cast¬ 
ing a resentful glance at his antagonist; “and where 
there are none to separate us.” 

“If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight, “the 
fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback, with 
spear, with axe, or' with sword, I am alike ready to en¬ 
counter thee.” 

More and angrier words would have been exchanged, 
but the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, 
compelled them to separate. The Disinherited Knight 
returned to his first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his tent, 


IVANHOE. 


91 


where he remained for the rest of the day in an agony of 
despair. 

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called 
for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver, or lower part 
of his helmet, announced that he quaffed it, “ To all true 
English hearts, and to the confusion of foreign tyrants.” 
He then commanded his trumpet to sound a defiance to 
the challengers, and desired a herald to announce to them 
that he should make no election, but was willing to en¬ 
counter them in the order in which they pleased to 
advance against him. 

The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armour, 
was the first who took the field. He bore on a white 
shield a black bull’s head, half defaced by the numerous 
encounters which he had undergone, and bearing the 
arrogant motto, Cave, Adsum. Over this champion the 
Disinherited Knight obtained a slight but decisive advan¬ 
tage. Both knights broke their lances fairly, but Front- 
de-Boeuf, who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was adjudged 
to have the disadvantage. 

In the stranger’s third encounter with Sir Philip Mah 
voisin he was equally successful; striking that baron so 
forcibly on the casque that the laces of the helmet broke, 
and Malvoisin, only saved from falling by being unhel- 
meted, was declared vanquished like his companions. 

In his fourth combat with De G-rantmesnil, the Dis¬ 
inherited Knight showed as much courtesy as he had 
hitherto evinced courage and dexterity. De Grantmesnil’s 
horse, which was young and violent, reared and plunged 
in the course of the career so as to disturb the rider’s 
aim, and the stranger, declining to take the advantage 
which this accident afforded him, raised his lance, and 
passing his antagonist without touching him, wheeled 
his horse and rode back again to his own end of the lists, 
offering his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of a second 
encounter. This De G-rantmesnil declined, avowing him¬ 
self vanquished as much by the courtesy as by the address 
of his opponent. 

Balph de Yipont summed up the list of the stranger’s 
triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such force 


92 


IVANHOE. 


that the blood gushed from his nose and his mouth, and 
he was borne senseless from the lists. 

The acclamations of thousands applauded the unani¬ 
mous award of the Prince and marshals, announcing that 
day’s honours to the Disinherited Knight. 


CHAPTER IX. 

In the midst was seen 
A lady of a more majestic mien, 

By stature and by beauty mark’d their sovereign Queen. 

And as in beauty she surpass’d the choir, 

So nobler than the rest was her attire ; 

A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow, 

Plain without pomp, and rich without a show ; 

A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand, 

She bore aloft her symbol of command. 

The Flower and the Leaf. 

William de Wyvil and Stephen de Marti val, the 
marshals of the field, were the first to offer their con¬ 
gratulations to the victor, praying him, at the same time, 
to suffer his helmet to be unlaced, or, at least, that he 
would raise his visor ere they conducted him to receive 
the prize of the day’s tourney from the hands of Prince 
John. The Disinherited Knight, with all knightly cour¬ 
tesy, declined their request, alleging, that he could not 
at this time suffer his face to be seen, for reasons which 
he had assigned to the heralds when he entered the lists. 
The marshals were perfectly satisfied by this reply; for 
amidst the frequent and capricious vows by which knights 
were accustomed to bind themselves in the days of chiv¬ 
alry, there were none more common than those by which 
they engaged to remain incognito for a certain space, or 
until some particular adventure was achieved. The mar¬ 
shals, therefore, pressed no farther into the mystery of 
the Disinherited Knight, but, announcing to Prince John 
the conqueror’s desire to remain unknown, they requested 
permission to bring him before his Grace, in order that 
he might receive the reward of his valour. 


IVANHOE. 


93 


John’s curiosity was excited by the mystery observed 
by the stranger; and, being already displeased with the 
issue of the tournament, in which the challengers whom 
he favoured had been successively defeated by one knight, 
he answered haughtily to the marshals, “ By the light of 
Our Lady’s brow, this same knight hath been disinherited 
as well of his courtesy as of his lands, since he desires to 
appear before us without uncovering his face.-—Wot ye,, 
my lords,” he said, turning round to his train, “ who this 
gallant can be that bears himself thus proudly ? ” 

“ I cannot guess,” answered De Bracy, “ nor did I think 
there had been within the four seas that girth Britain a 
champion that could bear down these five knights in one 
day’s jousting. By my faith, I shall never forget the 
force with which he shocked De Vipont. The poor Hos¬ 
pitaller was hurled from his saddle like a stone from a 
sling.” 

“ Boast not of that,” said a Knight of St. John who 
was present; “ your Temple champion had no better luck. 
I saw your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert, roll thrice over, 
grasping his hands full of sand at every turn.” 

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would have 
replied, but was prevented by Prince John. “ Silence, 
sirs!” he said; “what unprofitable debate have we here?” 

“ The victor,” said De Wyvil, “ still waits the pleasure 
of your Highness.” 

“It is our pleasure,” answered John, “that he do so 
wait until we learn whether there is not some one who 
can at least guess at his name and quality. Should he 
remain there till nightfall, he has had work enough to 
keep him warm.” 

“Your Grace,” said Waldemar Pitzurse, “will do less 
than due honour to the victor if you compel him to wait 
till we tell your Highness that which we cannot know ; 
at least I can form no guess — unless he be one of the 
good lances who accompanied King Bichard to Palestine, 
and who are now straggling homeward from the Holy 
Land.” 

“It may be the Earl of Salisbury,” said De Bracy; 
M he is about the same pitch.” 


94 


IVANHOE. 


“ Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland, 
rather/ 5 said Fitzurse; “Salisbury is bigger in the 
bones. 55 A whisper arose among the train, but by whom 
first suggested could not be ascertained. “ It might be 
the King— it might be Richard Coeur-de-Lion himself ! 55 

“Over God’s forbode ! 55 said Prince John, involuntarily 
turning at the same time as pale as death, and shrinking 
as it blighted by a flash of lightning; “ Waldemar ! De 
Bracy ! brave knights and gentlemen, remember your 
promises, and stand truly by me ! 55 

“ Here is no danger impending, 55 said Waldemar Fitz¬ 
urse ; “ are you so little acquainted with the gigantic 
limbs of your father’s son, as to think they can be held 
within the circumference of yonder suit of armour ? — 
De Wyvil and Martival, you will best serve the Prince 
by bringing forward the victor to the throne, and ending 
an error that has conjured all the blood from his cheeks. 
— Look at him more closely, 55 he continued; “ your High¬ 
ness will see that he wants three inches of King Richard’s 
height, and twice as much of his shoulder breadth. The 
very horse he backs could not have carried the ponderous 
weight of King Richard through a single course.” 

While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought for¬ 
ward the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a wooden 
flight of steps, which formed the ascent from the lists to 
Prince John’s throne. Still discomposed with the idea 
that his brother, so much injured, and to whom he was 
so much indebted, had suddenly arrived in his native 
kingdom, even the distinctions pointed out by Fitzurse 
did not altogether remove the Prince’s apprehensions; 
and, while, with a short and embarrassed eulogy upon 
his valour, he caused to be delivered to him the war- 
horse assigned as the prize, he trembled lest from the 
barred visor of the mailed form before him an answer 
might be returned in the deep and awful accents of 
Richard the Lion-hearted. 

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in 
reply to the compliment of the Prince, which he only 
acknowledged with a profound obeisance. 

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly 


IVANHOE. 


95 


dressed, the animal itself being fully accoutred with the 
richest war-furniture ; which, however, scarcely added to 
the value of the noble creature in the eyes of those who 
were judges. Laying one hand upon the pommel of the 
saddle, the Disinherited Knight vaulted at once upon the 
back of the steed without making use of the stirrup, and, 
brandishing aloft his lance, rode twice around the lists, 
exhibiting the points and paces of the horse with the 
skill of a perfect horseman. 

The appearance of vanity which might otherwise have 
been attributed to this display was removed by the pro¬ 
priety shown in exhibiting to the best advantage the 
princely reward with which he had been just honoured, 
and the Knight was again greeted by the acclamations 
of all present. 

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx had 
reminded Prince John, in a whisper, that the victor must 
now display his good judgment instead of his valour, by 
selecting from among the beauties who graced the gal¬ 
leries a lady who should fill the throne of the Queen of 
Beauty and of Love, and deliver the prize of the tourney 
upon the ensuing day. The Prince accordingly made a 
sign with his truncheon as the Knight passed him in his 
second career around the lists. The Knight turned 
towards the throne, and, sinking his lance until the point 
was within a foot of the ground, remained motionless, as 
if expecting John’s commands ; while all admired the 
sudden dexterity with which he instantly reduced his 
fiery steed from a state of violent emotion and high ex¬ 
citation to the stillness of an equestrian statue. 

“ Sir Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “ since 
that is the only title by which we can address you, it is 
now your duty, as well as privilege, to name the fair 
lady who, as Queen of Honour and of Love, is to preside 
over next day’s festival. If, as a stranger in our land, 
yon should require the aid of other judgment to guide 
your own, we can only say that Alicia, the daughter of 
our gallant knight Waldemar Pitzurse, has at our court 
been long held the first in beauty as in place. Never¬ 
theless, it is your undoubted prerogative to confer ou 


96 


IVANHOE. 


whom you please this crown, by the delivery of which to 
the lady of your choice the election of to-morrow’s Queen 
will be formal and complete. — Raise your lance.” 

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon its 
point a coronet of green satin, having around its edge a 
circlet of gold, the upper edge of which was relieved by 
arrow-points and hearts placed interchangeably, like the 
strawberry leaves and balls upon a ducal crown. 

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the 
daughter of Waldemar Fitzurse, John had more than 
one motive, each the offspring of a mind which was a 
strange mixture of carelessness and presumption with 
low artifice and cunning. He wished to banish from the 
minds of the chivalry around him his own indecent and 
unacceptable jest respecting the Jewess Rebecca; he was 
desirous of conciliating Alicia’s father, Waldemar, of 
whom he stood in awe, and who had more than once 
shown himself dissatisfied during the course of the day’s 
proceedings. He had also a wish to establish himself in 
the good graces of the lady; for John was at least as 
licentious in his pleasures as profligate in his ambition. 
But besides all these reasons, he was desirous to raise 
up against the Disinherited Knight, towards whom he 
already entertained a strong dislike, a powerful enemy 
in the person of Waldemar Fitzurse, who was likely, he 
thought, highly to resent the injury done to his daughter 
in case, as was not unlikely, the victor should make 
another choice. 

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited Knight 
passed the gallery, close to that of the Prince, in which 
the Lady Alicia was seated in the full pride of trium¬ 
phant beauty, and pacing forwards as slowly as he had 
hitherto rode swiftly around the lists, he seemed to exer¬ 
cise his right of examining the numerous fair faces which 
adorned that splendid circle. 

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the 
beauties who underwent this examination, during the 
time it was proceeding. Some blushed; some assumed 
an air of pride and dignity; some looked straight for¬ 
ward, and essayed to seem utterly unconscious of what 


IVAN HOE. 


97 


was going on; some drew back in alarm, which was per¬ 
haps affected; some endeavoured to forbear smiling; 
and there were two or three who laughed outright. 
There were also some who dropped their veils over their 
charms ; but as the War dour Manuscript says these were 
fair ones of ten years’ standing, it may be supposed that, 
having had their full share of such vanities, they were 
willing to withdraw their claim in order to give a fair 
chance to the rising beauties of the age. 

At length the champion paused beneath the balcony 
in which the Lady Eowena was placed, and the expecta¬ 
tion of the spectators was excited to the utmost. 

It must be owned that, if an interest displayed in his 
success could have bribed the Disinherited Knight, the 
part of the lists before which he paused had merited his 
predilection. Cedric the Saxon, overjoyed at the dis¬ 
comfiture of the Templar, and still more so at the mis¬ 
carriage of his two malevolent neighbours, Eront-de-Boeuf 
and Malvoisin, had, with his body half stretched over 
the balcony, accompanied the victor in each course not 
with his eyes only, but with his whole heart and soul. 
The Lady Eowena had watched the progress of the day 
with equal attention, though without openly betraying 
the same intense interest. Even the unmoved Athel- 
stane had shown symptoms of shaking off his apathy, 
when, calling for a huge goblet of muscadine, he quaffed 
it to the health of the Disinherited Knight. 

Another group, stationed under the gallery occupied 
by the Saxons, had shown no less interest in the fate of 
the day. 

“ Father Abraham I.” said Isaac of York, when the 
first course was run betwixt the Templar and the Disin¬ 
herited Knight, “how fiercely that Gentile rides! Ah, 
the good horse that was brought all the long way from 
Barbary, he takes no more care of him than if he were a 
wild ass’s colt — and the noble armour that was worth so 
many zecchins to Joseph Pareira, the armourer of Milan, 
besides seventy in the hundred of profits, he cares for it 
as little as if he had found it in the highways ! ” 

“If he risks his own person and limbs, father,” said 


98 


IVANHOE. 


Rebecca, “ in doing sucb a dreadful battle, he can scarce 
be expected to spare his horse and armour.” 

“Child!” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, “thou 
knowest not what thou speakest. His neck and limbs 

are his own; but his horse and armour belong to- 

Holy Jacob! what was I about to say? Nevertheless, 
it is a good youth. — See, Rebecca! — see, he is again 
about to go up to battle against the Philistine! — Pray, 
child — pray for the safety of the good youth; and of 
the speedy horse and the rich armour. — God of my 
fathers!” he again exclaimed, “he hath conquered, and 
the uncircumcised Philistine hath fallen before his lance, 
even as. Og the King of Bashan, and Sihon, King of the 
Amorites, fell before the sword of our fathers ! — Surely 
he shall take their gold and their silver, and their war- 
horses, and their armour of brass and of steel, for a prey 
and for a spoil.” 

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during 
every course that was run, seldom failing to hazard a 
hasty calculation concerning the value of the horse and 
armour which were forfeited to the champion upon each 
new success. There had been therefore no small interest 
taken in the success of the Disinherited Knight by those 
who occupied the part of the lists before which he now 
paused. 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of hesi¬ 
tation, the champion of the day remained stationary for 
more than a minute, while the eyes of the silent audience 
were riveted upon his motions; and then, gradually and 
gracefully sinking the point of his lance, he deposited 
the coronet which it supported at the feet of the fair 
Rowena. The trumpets instantly sounded, while the 
heralds proclaimed the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty 
and of Love for the ensuing day, menacing with suitable 
penalties those who should be disobedient to her authority. 
They then repeated their cry of Largesse, to which Cedric 
in the height of his joy, replied by an ample donative, 
and to which Athelstane, though less promptly, added 
one equally large. 

There was some murmuring among the damsels of 



IVANHOE. 


99 


Norman descent, who were as much unused to see the 
preference given to a Saxon beauty as the Norman nobles 
were to sustain defeat in the games of chivalry which 
they themselves had introduced. But these sounds of 
disaffection were drowned by the popular shout of “ Long 
live the Lady Rowena, the chosen and lawful Queen of 
Love and or Beauty ! ” To which many in the lower area 
added, “Long live the Saxon Princess! long live the 
race of the immortal Alfred ! ” 

However unacceptable these sounds might be to Prince 
John and to those around him, he saw himself neverthe¬ 
less obliged to confirm the nomination of the victor, and 
accordingly calling to norse, he left his throne, and mount¬ 
ing his jennet, accompanied by his train, he again entered 
the lists. The Prince paused a moment beneath the 
gallery of the Lady Alicia, to whom he paid his compli¬ 
ments, observing, at the same time, to those around him: 
“ By my halidome, sirs ! if the Knight’s feats in arms 
have shown that he hath limbs and sinews, his choice 
hath no less proved that his eyes are none of the 
clearest.” 

It was on this occasion, as during his whole life, John’s 
misfortune not perfectly to understand the characters of 
those whom he wished to conciliate. Waldemar Fitzurse 
was rather offended than pleased at the Prince stating 
thus broadly an opinion that his daughter had been 
slighted. 

“ I know no right of chivalry,” he said, u more precious 
or inalienable than that of each free knight to choose his 
lady-love by his own judgment. My daughter courts dis¬ 
tinction from no one; and in her own character, and in 
her own sphere, will never fail to receive the full propor¬ 
tion of that which is her due.” 

Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse, as if 
to give vent to his vexation, he made the animal bound 
forward to the gallery vfhere Rowena was seated, with 
the crown still at her feet. 

“ Assume,” he said, “ fair lady, the mark of your sover¬ 
eignty, to which none vows homage more sincerely than 
ourself, John of Anjou; and if it please you to-day, with 


100 


IVANHOE . 


your noble sire and friends, to grace our banquet in the 
Castle of Ashby, we shall learn to know the empress to 
whose service we devote to-morrow.” 

Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for her 
in his native Saxon. 

“ The Lady Rowena,” he said, “ possesses not the lan¬ 
guage in which to reply to your courtesy, or to sustain 
her part in your festival. I also, and the noble Athel- 
stane of Coningsburgh, speak only the language, and 
practise only the manners of our fathers. We therefore 
decline with thanks your Highness’s courteous invitation 
to the banquet. To-morrow, the Lady Rowena will take 
upon her the state to which she has been called by the 
free election of the victor Knight, confirmed by the 
acclamations of the people.” 

So saying, he lifted the coronet and placed it upon 
Rowena’s head, in token of her acceptance of the tempo¬ 
rary authority assigned to her. 

“What says he?” said Prince John, affecting not to 
understand the Saxon language, in which, however, he 
was well skilled. The purport of Cedric’s speech was 
repeated to him in French. “ It is well,” he said; “ to¬ 
morrow we will ourself conduct this mute sovereign to 
her seat of dignity. — You, at least, Sir Knight,” he 
added, turning to the victor, who had remained near the 
gallery, “ will this day share our banquet ? ” 

The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a low and 
hurried voice, excused himself by pleading fatigue, and 
the necessity of preparing for to-morrow’s encounter. 

“ It is well,” said Prince John, haughtily ; “ although 
unused to such refusals, we will endeavour to digest our 
banquet as we may, though ungraced by the most suc¬ 
cessful in arms, and his elected Queen of Beauty.” 

So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with his glit¬ 
tering train, and his turning his steed for that purpose 
was the signal for the breaking up and dispersion of the 
spectators. 

Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offended 
pride, especially when combined with conscious want of 
desert, John had hardly proceeded three paces ere again. 


IVANHOE. 


101 


turning around, lie fixed an eye of stern resentment upon 
the yeoman who had displeased him in the early part of 
the day, and issued his commands to the men-at-arms whG 
stood near: “ On your life, suffer not that fellow to escape.” 

The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Prince with 
the same unvaried steadiness which had marked his 
former deportment, saying, with a smile: “ I have no 
intention to leave Ashby until the day after to-morrow. 
I must see how Staffordshire and Leicestershire can draw 
their bows — the forests of Need wood and Charnwood 
must rear good archers.” 

“I,” said Prince John to his attendants, but not in di¬ 
rect reply — “ I will see how he can draw his own ; and 
woe betide him unless his skill should prove some apology 
for his insolence ! ” 

“ It is full time,” said De Bracy, “ that the outrecuidance 
of these peasants should be restrained by some striking 
example.” 

Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought his patron 
was not taking the readiest road to popularity, shrugged 
up his shoulders and was silent. Prince John resumed 
his retreat from the lists, and the dispersion of the multi¬ 
tude became general. 

In various routes, according to the different quarters 
from which they came, and in groups of various numbers, 
the spectators were seen retiring over the plain. By far 
the most numerous part streamed towards the town of 
Ashby, where many of the distinguished persons were 
lodged in the castle, and where others found accommoda¬ 
tion in the town itself. Among these were most of the 
knights who had already appeared in the tournament, or 
who proposed to fight there the ensuing day, and who, as 
they rode slowly along, talking over the events of the 
day, were greeted with loud shouts by the populace. The 
same acclamations were bestowed upon Prince John, al¬ 
though he was indebted for them rather to the splendour 
of his appearance and train than to the popularity of his 
character. 

A more sincere and more general, as well as a better- 
merited acclamation, attended the victor of the day, un- 


102 


IVANHOE. 


til, anxious to withdraw himself from popular notice, he 
accepted the accommodation of one of those pavilions 
pitched at the extremities of the lists, the use of which 
was courteously tendered him by the marshals of the 
field. On his retiring to his tent, many who had lingered 
in the lists, to look upon and form conjectures concerning 
him, also dispersed. 

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of 
men lately crowded together in one place, and agitated 
by the same passing events, were now exchanged for the 
distant hum of voices of different groups retreating in all 
directions, and these speedily died away in silence. No 
other sounds were heard save the voices of the menials 
who stripped the galleries of their cushions and tapestry 
in order to put them in safety for the night, and wrangled 
among themselves for the half-used bottles of wine and 
relics of the refreshment which had been served round 
to the spectators. 

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge 
was erected; and these now began to glimmer through 
the twilight, announcing the toil of the armourers, which 
was to continue through the whole night, in order to re¬ 
pair or alter the suits of armour to be used again on the 
morrow. 

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, 
from two hours to two hours, surrounded the lists, and 
kept watch during the night. 


CHAPTER X. 

Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls 
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak, 

And in the shadow of the silent night 
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings ; 

Vex’d and tormented, runs poor Barrabas, 

With fatal curses towards these Christians. 

Jew of Malta. 

The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached his 
pavilion than squires and pages in abundance tendered 


IVANHOE. 


103 


their services to disarm him, to bring fresh attire, and to 
offer him the refreshment of the bath. Their zeal on 
this occasion was perhaps sharpened by curiosity, since 
every one desired to know who the knight was that had 
gained so many laurels, yet had refused, even at the com¬ 
mand of Prince John, to lift his visor or to name his 
name. But their officious inquisitiveness was not grati¬ 
fied. The Disinherited Knight refused all other assist¬ 
ance save that of his own squire, or rather yeoman — a 
clownish-looking man, who, wrapt in a cloak of dark- 
coloured felt, and having his head and face half-buried 
in a Norman bonnet made of black fur, seemed to affect 
the incognito as much as his master. All others being 
excluded from the tent, this attendant relieved his mas¬ 
ter from the more burdensome parts of his armour, and 
placed food and wine before him, which the exertions of 
the day rendered very acceptable. 

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal ere his 
menial announced to him that five men, each leading a 
barbed steed, desired to speak with him. The Disin¬ 
herited Knight had exchanged his armour for the long 
robe usually worn by those of his condition, which, being 
furnished with a hood, concealed the features, when such 
was the pleasure of the wearer, almost as completely as 
the visor of the helmet itself; but the twilight, which 
was now fast darkening, would of itself have rendered a 
disguise unnecessary, unless to persons to whom the face 
of an individual chanced to be particularly well known. 

The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldly forth 
to the front of his tent, and found in attendance the 
squires of the challengers, whom, he easily knew by their 
russet and black dresses, each of whom led his master’s 
charger, loaded with the armour in which he had that 
day fought. 

“ According to the laws of chivalry,” said the foremost 
of these men, “ I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the re¬ 
doubted Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, make offer to 
you, styling yourself for the present the Disinherited 
Knight, of the horse and armour used by the said Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert in this day’s passage of arms, leaving it 


104 


1VANHOE. 


with, your nobleness to retain or to ransom the same, 
according to your pleasure; for such is the law of arms* 

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula 
and then stood to await the decision of the Disinherited 
Knight. 

“To you four, sirs,” replied the Knight, addressing 
those who had last spoken, “ and to your honourable and 
valiant masters, I have one common reply. Commend 
me to the noble knights, your masters, and say, I should 
do ill to deprive them of steeds and arms which can never 
be used by braver cavaliers. — I would I could here end 
my message to these gallant knights; but being, as I 
term myself, in truth and earnest the Disinherited, I 
must be thus far bound to your masters, that they will, 
of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom their steeds and 
armour, since that which I wear I can hardly term mine 
own.” 

“We stand commissioned, each of us,” answered the 
squire of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, “to offer a hundred 
zecchins in ransom of these horses and suits of armour.” 

“ It is sufficient,” said the Disinherited Knight. “ Half 
the sum my present necessities compel me to accept; of 
the remaining half, distribute one moiety among your¬ 
selves, sir squires, and divide the other half betwixt the 
heralds and the pursuivants, and minstrels and attend¬ 
ants.” 

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences, ex¬ 
pressed their deep sense of a courtesy and generosity not 
often practised, at least upon a scale so extensive. The 
Disinherited Knight then addressed his discourse to 
Baldwin, the squire of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. “ From 
your master,” said he, “ I will accept neither arms nor 
ransom. Say to him in my name, that our strife is not 
ended — no, not till we have fought as well with swords 
as with lances, as well on foot as on horseback. To this 
mortal quarrel he has himself defied me, and I shall not 
forget the challenge. — Meantime, let him be assured that 
I hold him not as one of his companions, with whom I can 
with pleasure exchange courtesies; but rather as one with 
whom T stand upon terms of mortal defiance.” 


I VAN HOE. 


103 

“My master,” answered Baldwin, “knows how to re¬ 
quite scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as well as 
courtesy with courtesy. Since you disdain to accept from 
him any share of the ransom at which you have rated the 
arms of the other knights, I must leave his armour and 
bis horse here, being well assured that he will never deign 
to mount the one nor wear the other.” 

“ You have spoken well, good squire,” said the Disin¬ 
herited Knight, “well and boldly, as it beseemeth him 
to speak who answers for an absent master. Leave not, 
however, the horse and armour here. Restore them to 
thy master; or, if he scorns to accept them, retain them, 
good friend, for thine own use. So far as they are mine, 
I bestow them upon you freely.” 

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his 
companions; and the Disinherited Knight entered the 
pavilion. 

“Thus far, Gurth,” said he, addressing his attendant, 
“ the reputation of English chivalry hath not suffered in 
my hands.” 

“ And I,” said Gurth, “ for a Saxon swineherd, have not 
ill played the personage of a Korman squire-at-arms.” 

“Yea, but,” answered the Disinherited Knight, “thou 
hast ever kept me in anxiety lest thy clownish bearing 
should discover thee.” 

“Tush!” said Gurth, “I fear discovery from none, 
saving my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, of whom I 
could never discover whether he were most knave or 
fool. Yet I could scarce choose but laugh, when my 
old master passed so near to me, dreaming all the while 
that Gurth was keeping his porkers many a mile off, 
in the thickets and swamps of Rotherwood. If I am 
discovered-” 

“ Enough,” said the Disinherited Knight, “ thou know- 
est my promise.” 

“Kay, for that matter,” said Gurth, “I will never fail 
my friend for fear of my skin-cutting. I have a tough 
hide, that will bear knife or scourge as well as any boar’s 
bide in my herd.” 

“ Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my love, 



106 


IVANHOE. 


Gurth,” said the Knight. “ Meanwhile, I pray you to 
accept these ten pieces of gold.” 

“ I am richer,” said Gurth, putting them into his pouch, 
“ than ever was swineherd or bondsman.” 

“ Take this bag of gold to Ashby,” continued his mas¬ 
ter, “ and find out Isaac the Jew of York, and let him 
pay himself for the horse and arms with which his credit 
supplied me.” 

“Nay, by St. Dunstan,” replied Gurth, “that I will not 
do.” 

“ How, knave,” replied his master, “ wilt thou not obey 
my commands ? ” 

“ So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian com¬ 
mands,” replied Gurth; “ but this is none of these. To 
suffer the Jew to pay himself would be dishonest, for it 
would be cheating my master; and unreasonable, for it 
were the part of a fool; and unchristian, since it would 
De plundering a believer to enrich an infidel.” 

“ See him contented, however, thou stubborn varlet,” 
said the Disinherited Knight. 

“ I will do so,” said Gurth, taking the bag under his 
cloak and leaving the apartment; “ and it will go hard,” 
he muttered, “ but I content him with one-half of his own 
asking.” So saying, he departed, and left the Disinher¬ 
ited Knight to his own perplexed ruminations, which, 
upon more accounts than it is now possible to communi¬ 
cate to the reader, were of a nature peculiarly agitating 
and painful. 

We must now change the scene to the village of Ashby, 
or rather to a country house in its vicinity belonging to a 
wealthy Israelite, with whom Isaac, his daughter, and reti¬ 
nue had taken up their quarters; the Jews, it is well 
known, being as liberal in exercising the duties of hospi¬ 
tality and charity among their own people as they were 
alleged to be reluctant and churlish in extending them to 
those whom they termed Gentiles, and whose treatment 
of them certainly merited little hospitality at their hand. 

In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnished 
with decorations of an Oriental taste, Rebecca wa.s seated 


IVANHOE. 


107 


on a. heap of embroidered cushions, which, piled along a 
low platform that surrounded the chamber, served, like 
the estrada of the Spaniards, instead of chairs and stools. 
She was watching the motions of her father with a look 
of anxious and filial affection, while he paced the apart¬ 
ment with a dejected mien and disordered step, sometimes 
clasping his hands together, sometimes casting his eyes, 
to the roof of the apartment, as one who laboured under 
great mental tribulation. “O Jacobl” he exclaimed — 
“ O all ye twelve Holy Fathers of our tribe! what a los¬ 
ing venture is this for one who hath duly kept every jot 
and tittle of the law of Moses ! — Fifty zecchins wrenched 
from me at one clutch, and by the talons of a tyrant ! 33 

“ But, father,” said Rebecca, “ you seemed to give the 
gold to Prince John willingly.” 

“ Willingly ! the blotch of Egypt upon him ! —- Will¬ 
ingly, saidst thou ? — Ay, as willingly as when, in the 
Gulf of Lyons, I flung over my merchandise to lighten 
the ship, while she laboured in the tempest — robed the 
seething billows in my choice silks — perfumed their 
briny foam with myrrh and aloes — enriched their cav¬ 
erns with gold and silver work! And was not that an 
hour of unutterable misery, though my hands made the 
sacrifice ? ” 

“ But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to save 
our lives,” answered Rebecca, “ and the God of our fathers 
has since blessed your store and your gettings.” 

“ Ay,” answered Isaac, “ but if the tyrant lays hold on 
them as he did to-day, and compels me to smile while he 
is robbing me ? — 0 daughter, disinherited and wandering 
as we are, the worst evil which befalls our race is, that 
when we are wronged and plundered all the world laughs 
around, and we are compelled to suppress our sense of 
injury, and to smile tamely when we would revenge 
bravely.” 

“ Think not thus of it, my father,” said Rebecca; “ we 
also have advantages. These Gentiles, cruel and oppres¬ 
sive as they are, are in some sort dependent on the dis¬ 
persed children of Zion, whom they despise and persecute. 
Without the aid of our wealth they could neither furnish 


108 


IVANHOE. 


forth their hosts in war nor their triumphs in peace; • and 
the gold which we lend them returns with increase to our 
coffers. We are like the herb which flourisheth most 
when it is most trampled on. Even this day’s pageant 
had not proceeded without the consent of the despised 
Jew, who furnished the means.” 

“Daughter,” said Isaac, “thou hast harped upon an¬ 
other string of sorrow. The goodly steed and the rich 
armour, equal to the full profit of my adventure with our 
Kirjath Jairam of Leicester — there is a dead loss too — 
ay, a loss which swallows up the gains of a week — ay, 
of the space between two Sabaoths — and yet it may end 
better than I now think, for ’tis a good youth.” 

“ Assuredly,” said Rebecca, “ you shall not repent you 
of requiting the good deed received of the stranger 
knight.” 

“ I trust so, daughter,” said Isaac, “ and I trust too in 
the rebuilding of Zion; but as well do I hope with my 
own bodily eyes to see the walls and battlements of the 
new Temple, as to see a Christian, yea, the very best of 
Christians, repay a debt to a Jew, unless under the awe 
of the judge and jailor.” 

So saying, he resumed his discontented walk through 
the apartment; and Rebecca, perceiving that her attempts 
at consolation only served to awaken new subjects of 
complaint, wisely desisted from her unavailing efforts — 
a prudential line of conduct, and we recommend to all 
who set up for comforters and advisers to follow it in the 
like circumstances. 

The evening was now becoming dark, when a Jewish 
servant entered the apartment and placed upon the table 
two silver lamps, fed with perfumed oil; the richest 
wines and the most delicate refreshments were at the 
same time displayed by another Israelitish domestic on a 
small ebony table, inlaid with silver; for, in the interior 
of their houses, the Jews refused themselves no expen¬ 
sive indulgences. At the same time the servant informed 
Isaac that a Nazarene (so they termed Christians while 
conversing among themselves) desired to speak with him. 
He that would live by traffic must hold himself at the 


IVANHOE. 


109 


disposal of every one claiming business with him. Isaac 
at once replaced on the table the untasted glass of Greek 
wine which he had just raised to his lips, and saying 
hastily to his daughter, “ Rebecca, veil thyself,” com¬ 
manded the stranger to be admitted. 

Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine features a 
screen of silver gauze which reached to her feet, the door 
opened, and Gurth entered, wrapt in the ample folds of 
his Norman mantle. His appearance was rather suspi¬ 
cious than prepossessing, especially as, instead of doffing 
his bonnet, he pulled it still deeper over his rugged brow. 

“Art thou Isaac the Jew of York?” said Gurth, in 
Saxon. 

“I am,” replied Isaac, in the same language, for his 
traffic had rendered every tongue spoken in Britain 
familiar to him, “ and who art thou ? ” 

“ That is not to the purpose,” answered Gurth. 

“ As much as my name is to thee,” replied Isaac; “ for 
without knowing thine, how can I hold intercourse with 
thee?” * 

“ Easily,” answered Gurth; “ I, being to pay money, 
must know that I deliver it to the right person; thou, 
who art to receive it, wilt not, I think, care very greatly 
by whose hands it is delivered.” 

“Oh,” said the Jew, “you are come to pay monies? 
Holy Father Abraham ! that altereth our relation to each 
other. And from whom dost thou bring it ? ” 

“ From the Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth, “ victor 
in this day’s tournament. It is the price of the armour 
supplied to him by Kirjath Jairam of Leicester, on thy 
recommendation. The steed is restored to thy stable. I 
desire to know the amount of the sum which I am to pay 
for the armour.” 

“ I said he was a good youth ! ” exclaimed Isaac, with 
joyful exultation. “ A cup of wine will do thee no harm,” 
he added, filling and handing to the swineherd a richer 
draught than Gurth had ever before tasted. “ And how 
much money,” continued Isaac, “ hast thou brought with 
thee ? ” 

“ Holy Virgin! ” said Gurth, setting down the cup, 


110 


IVANHOE. 


“ what nectar these unbelieving dogs drink, while true 
Christians are fain to quaff ale as muddy and thick as 
the draff we give to hogs ! — What money have I brought 
with me?” continued the Saxon, when he had finished 
this uncivil ejaculation, “even but a small sum; some¬ 
thing in hand the whilst. What, Isaac! thou must 
bear a conscience, though it be a Jewish one.’' 

“Nay, but,” said Isaac, “thy master has won goodly 
steeds and rich armours with the strength of his lance 
and of his right hand — but ’tis a good youth — the Jew 
will take these in present payment, and render him back 
the surplus.” 

“ My master has disposed of them already,” said G-urth. 

“ Ah ! that was wrong,” said the Jew — “ that was the 
part of a fool. No Christian here could buy so many 
horses and armour — no Jew except myself would give 
him half the values. But thou hast a hundred zecchins 
with thee in that bag,” said Isaac, prying under Gurth’s 
cloak, “it is a heavy one.” 

“ I have heads for cross-bow bolts in it,” said Gurth, 
readily. 

“ Well, then,” said Isaac, panting and hesitating be¬ 
tween habitual love of gain and a new-born desire to be 
liberal in the present instance, “ if I should say that 1 
would take eighty zecchins for the good steed and the 
rich armour,, which leaves me not a guilder’s profit, have 
you money to pay me ? ” 

“ Barely,” said Gurth, though the sum demanded was 
more reasonable than he expected, “and it will leave my 
master nigh penniless. Nevertheless, if such be your 
least offer, I must be content.” 

“Fill thyself another goblet of wine,” said the Jew. 
“ Ah! eighty zecchins is too little. It leaveth no profit 
for the usages of the monies ; and, besides, the good horse 
may have suffered wrong in this day’s encounter. Oh, 
it was a hard and a dangerous meeting! man and steed 
rushing on each other like wild bulls of Bashan! the 
horse cannot but have had wrong.” 

“ And I say,” replied Gurth, “ he is sound, wind and 
limb; and you may see him now in your stable. And 1 


IVANHOE. 


Ill 


say, over and above, that seventy zecchins is enough foi 
the armour, and I hope a Christian’s word is as good as s 
Jew’s. If you will not take seventy, I will carry this 
bag” (and he shook it till the contents jingled) “back tc 
my master.” 

“Nay, nay !” said Isaac; “lay down the talents — the 
shekels — the eighty zecchins, and thou shalt see I will 
consider thee liberally.” 

Gurth at length complied; and telling out eighty 
zecchins upon the table, the Jew delivered out to him ac 
acquittance for the horse and suit of armour. The Jew’s 
hand trembled for joy as he wrapped up the first seventy 
pieces of gold. The last ten he told over with much 
deliberation, pausing, and saying something as he took 
each piece from the table and dropt it into his purse. If 
seemed as if his avarice were struggling with his bettei 
nature, and compelling him to pouch zecchin after zem 
chin, while his generosity urged him to restore some 
part at least to his benefactor, or as a donation to his 
agent. His whole speech ran nearly thus: 

“ Seventy-one, seventy-two — thy master is a good 
youth — seventy-three — an excellent youth — seventy- 
four— that piece hath been dipt within the ring — 
seventy-five — and that looketh light of weight — seventy- 
six— when thy master wants money, let him come to 
Isaac of York — seventy-seven — that is, with reasonable 
security.” Here he made a considerable pause, and 
Gurth had good hope that the last three pieces might 
escape the fate of their comrades; but the enumeration 
proceeded; “ Seventy-eight — thou art a good fellow 
seventy-nine — and deservest something for thyself-” 

Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the last 
zecchin, intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon Gurth. 
He weighed it upon the tip of his finger, and made it 
ring by dropping it upon the table. Had it rung too flat, 
or had it felt a hair’s breadth too light, generosity had 
carried the day; but, unhappily for Gurth, the chime 
was full and true, the zecchin plump, newly coined, and 
a grain above weight. Isaac could not find it in his heart 
to part with it, so dropt it into his purse as if in absence 



112 


/ VAN HOE. 


of mind, with the words, “ Eighty completes the tale, and 
I trust thy master will reward thee handsomely. Surely,” 
he added, looking earnestly at the bag, “ thou hast more 
coins in that pouch ? ” 

Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approach to a 
laugh, as he replied, “ About the same quantity which thou 
hast just told over so carefully.” He then folded the 
quittance, and put it under his cap, adding, “ Peril of thy 
beard, Jew, see that this be full and ample ! ” He filled 
himself, unbidden, a third goblet of wine, and left the 
apartment without ceremony. 

“Rebecca,” said the Jew, “that Ishmaelite hath gone 
somewhat beyond me. Nevertheless, his master is a good 
youth — ay, and I am well pleased that he hath gained 
shekels of gold and shekels of silver, even by the speed 
of his horse and by the strength of his lance, which, like 
that of Goliath the Philistine, might vie with a weaver’s 
beam.” 

As he turned to receive Rebecca’s answer, he observed 
that during his chaffering with Gurth she had left the 
apartment unperceived. 

In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair, and, 
having reached the dark ante-chamber or hall, was puz¬ 
zling to discover the entrance, when a figure in white, 
shown by a small silver lamp which she held in her hand, 
beckoned him into a side apartment. Gurth had some 
reluctance to obey the summons. Rough and impetuous 
as a wild boar where only earthly force was to be appre¬ 
hended, he had all the characteristic terrors of a Saxon 
respecting fauns, forest fiends, white women, and the 
whole of the superstitions which his ancestors had brought 
with them from the wilds of Germany. He remembered, 
moreover, that he was in the house of a Jew, a people 
who, besides the other unamiable qualities which popular 
report ascribed to them, were supposed to be profound 
necromancers and cabalists. Nevertheless, after a mo¬ 
ment’s pause, he obeyed the beckoning summons of the 
apparition, and followed her into the apartment which 
she indicated, where he found, to his joyful surprise, that 
his fair guide was the beautiful Jewess whom he had 


IVANHOE. 


113 


seen at the tournament, and a short time in her father’s 
apartment. 

She asked him the particulars of his transaction with 
Isaac, which he detailed accurately. 

“ My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,” said 
Rebecca; “ he owes thy master deeper kindness than these 
arms and steed could pay, were their value tenfold. What 
sum didst thou pay my father even now ? ” 

“ Eighty zecchins,” said Gurth, surprised at the question. 

“ In this purse,” said Rebecca, “ thou wilt find a hun¬ 
dred. Restore to thy master that which is his due, and 
enrich thyself with the remainder. Haste — begone — 
stay not to render thanks! and beware how you pass 
through this crowded town, where thou mayst easily 
lose both thy burden and thy life.—Reuben,” she added, 
clapping her hands together, “ light forth this stranger, 
and fail not to draw lock and bar behind him.” 

Reuben, a dark-browed and black-bearded Israelite, 
obeyed her summons, with a torch in his hand; undid 
the outward door of the house, and conducting Gurth 
across a paved court, let him out through a wicket in the 
entrance-gate, which he closed behind him with such 
bolts and chains as would well have become that of a 
prison. 

“ By St. Dunstan,” said Gurth, as he stumbled up the 
dark avenue, “this is no Jewess, but an angel from 
heaven! Ten zecchins from my brave young master — 
twenty from this pearl of Zion ! — Oh, happy day! — Such 
another, Gurth, will redeem thy bondage, and make thee 
a brother as free of thy guild as the best. And then do 
I lay down my swineherd’s horn and staff, and take the 
freeman’s sword and buckler, and follow my young mas¬ 
ter to the death, without hiding either my face or my 
name.” 


114 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTER XL 

Isi Outlaw. Stand, sir, and throw ns that you have about you . 
If not, we’ll make you sit, and rifle you. 

Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Val. My friends- 

1st Out. That’s not so, sir, we are your enemies, 

2d Out. Peace ! we’ll hear him. 

3d Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; 

For he’s a proper man. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

The nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yet con¬ 
cluded; indeed, he himself became partly of that mind 
when, after passing one or two straggling houses which 
stood in the outskirts of the village, he found himself in 
a deep lane, running between two banks overgrown with 
hazel and holly, while here and there a dwarf oak hung 
its arms altogether across the path. The lane was, more¬ 
over, much rutted and broken up by the carriages which 
had recently transported articles of various kinds to the 
tournament; and it was dark, for the banks and bushes 
intercepted the light of the harvest moon. 

From the village were heard the distant sounds of 
revelry, mixed occasionally with loud laughter, sometimes 
broken by screams, and sometimes by wild strains of dis¬ 
tant music. All these sounds, intimating the disorderly 
state of the town, crowded with military-nobles and their 
dissolute attendants, gave Gurth some uneasiness. “ The 
Jewess was right,” he said to himself. “By heaven and 
St. Dunstan, I would I were safe at my journey’s end with 
all this treasure! Here are such numbers, I will not 
say of arrant thieves, but of errant knights and errant 
squires, errant monks and errant minstrels, errant jug¬ 
glers and errant jesters, that a man with a single merk 
would be in danger, much more a poor swineherd with 
a whole bagful of zecchins. Would I were out of the 
shade of these infernal bushes, that I might at least 
see any of St. Nicholas’s clerks before they spring on my 
shoulders! ” 


IVANHOE. 


115 


Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order to gain 
the open common to which the lane led, but was not so 
fortunate as to accomplish his object. Just as he at¬ 
tained the upper end of the lane, where the underwood 
was thickest, four men sprung upon him, even as his 
fears anticipated, two from each side of the road, and 
seized him so fast that resistance, if at first practicable, 
would have been now too late. — “ Surrender your charge,” 
said one of them ; “ we are the deliverers of the common¬ 
wealth, who ease every man of his burden.” 

“ You should not ease me of mine so lightly,” muttered 
Gurth, whose surly honesty could not be tamed even by 
the pressure of immediate violence, “had I it but in my 
power to give three strokes in its defence.” 

“We shall see that presently,” said the robber; and, 
speaking to his companions, he added, “ bring along the 
knave. I see he would have his head broken as well 
as his purse cut, and so be let blood in two veins at 
once.” 

Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this mandate, and 
having been dragged somewhat roughly over the bank on 
the left-hand side of the lane, found himself in a strag¬ 
gling thicket, which lay betwixt it and the open common. 
He was compelled to follow his rough conductors into the 
very depth of this cover, where they stopt unexpectedly 
in an irregular open space, free in a great measure from 
trees, and on which, therefore, the beams of the moon 
fell without much interruption from boughs and leaves. 
Here his captors vrere joined by two other persons, appar¬ 
ently belonging to the gang. They had short swords by 
their sides, and quarter-staves in their hands, and Gurth 
could now observe that all six wore visors, which rendered 
their occupation a matter of no question, even had their 
former proceedings left it in doubt. 

“ What money hast thou, churl ? ” said one of the 
thieves. 

“Thirty zecchins of my own property,” answered 
Gurth, doggedly. 

“ A forfeit — a forfeit,” shouted the robbers; “ a Saxon 
hath thirty zecchins, and returns sober from a village! 


116 


IVANHOE. 


An undeniable and unredeemable forfeit of all be hath 
about him.” 

“ I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,” said Gurth. 

“ Thou art an ass,” replied one of the thieves; “ three 
quarts of double ale had rendered thee as free as thy 
master, ay, and freer too, if he be a Saxon like thy¬ 
self.” 

“ A sad truth,” replied Gurth; “ but if these same 
thirty zecchins will buy my freedom from you, unloose 
my hands and I will pay them to you.” 

“ Hold,” said one who seemed to exercise some author¬ 
ity over the others; “this bag which thou bearest, as 1 
can feel through thy cloak, contains more coin than then 
hast told us of.” 

“ It is the good knight my master’s,” answered Gurth, 
“ of which, assuredly, I would not have spoken a word., 
had you been satisfied with working your will upon mine 
own property.” 

“ Thou art an honest fellow,” replied the robber, “ I 
warrant thee; and we worship not St. Nicholas so de¬ 
voutly but what thy thirty zecchins may yet escape, if 
thou deal uprightly with us. Meantime, render up thy 
trust for the time.” So saying, he took from Gurth’s 
breast the large leathern pouch, in which the purse given 
him by Rebecca was inclosed, as well as the rest of the 
zecchins, and then continued his interrogation — “Who 
is thy master ? ” 

“ The Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth. 

“ Whose good lance,” replied the robber, “ won a prize 
in to-day’s tourney ? What is his name and lineage ? ” 

“ It is his pleasure,” answered Gurth, “ that they be 
concealed; and from me, assuredly, you will learn nought 
of them.” 

“ What is thine own name and lineage ? ” 

“ To tell that,” said Gurth, “ might reveal my master’s.” 

“ Thou art a saucy groom,” said the robber; “ but of 
that anon. How comes thy master by this gold ? Is it 
of his inheritance, or by what means hath it accrued to 
him ? ” 

“ By his good lance,” answered Gurth. “ These bags 


IVANHOE. 


117 


contain the ransom of four good horses and four good 
suits of armour.” 

“ How much is there ? ” demanded the robber. 

“Two hundred zecchins.” 

“ Only two hundred zecchins ! ” said the bandit; “ your 
master hath dealt liberally by the vanquished, and put 
them to a cheap ransom. Name those who paid the gold.” 

Gurth did so. 

“ The armour and horse of the Templar Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert — at what ransom were they held ? — Thou seest 
thou canst not deceive me.” 

“ My master,” replied Gurth, “ will take nought from 
the Templar save his life’s-blood. They are on terms of 
mortal defiance, and cannot hold courteous intercourse 
together.” 

“ Indeed! ” repeated the robber, and paused after he 
had said the word. “ And what wert thou now doing at 
Ashby with such, a charge in thy custody ? ” 

“I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew of York,” 
replied Gurth, “ the price of a suit of armour with which 
he fitted my master for this tournament.” 

“ And how much didst thou pay to Isaac ? — Methinks, 
to judge by weight, there is still two hundred zecchins in 
this pouch.” 

“ I paid to Isaac,” said the Saxon, “ eighty zecchins, 
and he restored me a hundred in lieu thereof.” 

“ How ! what! ” exclaimed all the robbers at once ; 
“ darest thou trifle with us, that thou tellest such im¬ 
probable lies ? ” 

“ What I tell you,” said Gurth, “ is as true as the moon 
is in heaven. You will find the just sum in a silken purse 
within the leathern pouch, and separate from the rest of 
the gold.” 

“ Bethink thee, man,” said the Captain, “ thou speak- 
est of a Jew — of an Israelite, — as unapt to restore gold 
as the dry sand of his deserts to return the cup of water 
which the pilgrim spills upon them.” 

“ There is no more mercy in them,” said another of the 
banditti, “ than in an unbribed sheriff’s officer.” 

“ It is, however, as I say,” said Gurth. 


118 


IVANHOE. 


“ Strike a light instantly,” said the Captain; “ 1 will 
examine this said purse ; and if it be as this fellow says, 
the Jew’s bounty is little less miraculous than the stream 
which relieved his fathers in the wilderness.” 

A light was procured accordingly, and the robber pro¬ 
ceeded to examine the purse. The others crowded around 
him, and even two who had hold of Gurth relaxed their 
grasp while they stretched their necks to see the issue of 
the search. Availing himself of their negligence, by a 
sudden exertion of strength and activity Gurth shook 
himself free of their hold, and might have escaped, could 
he have resolved to leave his master’s property behind 
him. But such was no part of hi.s intention. He 
wrenched a quarter-staff from one of the fellows, struck 
down the Captain, who was altogether unaware of his 
purpose, and had well-nigh repossessed himself of the 
pouch and treasure. The thieves, however, were too 
nimble for him, and again secured both the bag and the 
trusty Gurth. 

u Knave! ” said the Captain, getting up, “ thou hast 
broken my head, and with other men of our sort thou 
wouldst fare the worse for thy insolence. But thou shalt 
know thy fate instantly. First let us speak of thy mas¬ 
ter ; the knight’s matters must go before the squire’s, 
according to the due order of chivalry. Stand thou fast 
in the meantime — if thou stir again, thou shalt have that 
will make thee quiet for thy life — Comrades ! ” he then 
said, addressing his gang, “ this purse is embroidered with 
Hebrew characters, and I well believe the yeoman’s tale 
is true. The errant knight, his master, must needs pass 
us toll-free. He is too like ourselves for us to make booty 
of him, since dogs should not worry dogs where wolves 
and foxes are to be found in abundance.” 

“ Like us ! ” answered one of the gang ; “ I should like 
to hear how that is made good.” 

“ Why, thou fool,” answered the Captain, “ is he not 
poor and disinherited as we are ? — Doth he not win his 
substance at the sword’s point as we do ? — Hath he not 
beaten Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin, even as we would 
beat them if we could ?'— Is he not the enemy to life and 


I VAN HOE. 


119 


death of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom we have so much 
reason to fear? And were all this otherwise, wonldst 
thou have us show a worse conscience than an unbeliever, 
a Hebrew Jew ? ” 

“Nay, that were a shame,” muttered the other fellow; 
“ and yet, when I served in the band of stout old Gande- 
lyn, we had no such scruples of conscience. And this 
insolent peasant — he too, I warrant me, is to be dis¬ 
missed scatheless ? ” 

“ Not if thou canst scathe him,” replied the Captain. 
“Here, fellow,” continued he, addressing Gurth, “canst 
thou use the staff, that thou startst to it so readily ? ” 

“ I think,” said Gurth, “ thou shouldst be best able to 
reply to that question.” 

“ Nay, by my troth, thou gayest me a round knock,” 
replied the Captain; “do as much for this fellow, and 
thou shalt pass scot-free, and if thou dost not — why, by 
my faith, as thou art such a sturdy knave, I think I must 
pay thy ransom myself. — Take thy staff, Miller,” he 
added, “ and keep thy head; and do you others let the 
fellow go, and give him a staff — there is light enough to 
lay on load by.” 

The two champions, being alike armed with quarter- 
staves, stepped forward into the centre of the open space, 
in order to have the full benefit of the moonlight; the 
thieves in the meantime laughing, and crying to their 
comrade, “ Miller! beware thy toll-dish.” The Miller, 
on the other hand, holding his quarter-staff by the middle, 
and making it flourish round his head after the fashion 
which the French call faire le moulinet, exclaimed boast¬ 
fully, “ Come on, churl, an thou darest; thou shalt feel 
the strength of a miller’s thumb! ” 

“ If thou be’st a miller,” answered Gurth, undauntedly, 
making his weapon play around his head with equal dex¬ 
terity, “ thou art doubly a thief, and I, as a true man, bid 
thee defiance.” 

So saying, the two champions closed together, and for 
a few minutes they displayed great equality in strength, 
courage, and skill, intercepting and returning the blows 
of their adversary with the most rapid dexterity, while. 


120 


IVAN HOE. 


from the continued clatter of their weapons, a person at 
a distance might have supposed that there were at least 
six persons engaged on each side. Less obstinate, and 
even less dangerous, combats have been described in good 
heroic verse; but that of G-urth and the Miller must re¬ 
main unsung, for want of a sacred poet to do justice to 
its eventful progress. Yet, though quarter-staff play be 
out of date, what we can in prose we will do for these 
bold champions. 

Long they fought equally, until the Miller began to 
lose temper at finding himself so stoutly opposed, and at 
hearing the laughter of his companions, who, as usual in 
such cases, enjoyed his vexation. This was not a state 
of mind favourable to the noble game of quarter-staff, in 
which, as in ordinary cudgel-playing, the utmost coolness 
is requisite; and it gave G-urth, whose temper was steady, 
though surly, the opportunity of acquiring a decided ad¬ 
vantage, in availing himself of which he displayed great 
mastery. 

The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealing blows 
with either end of his weapon alternately, and striving to 
come to half-staff distance, while Gurth defended him¬ 
self against the attack, keeping his hands about a yard 
asunder, and covering himself by shifting his weapon 
with great celerity, so as to protect his head and body. 
Thus did he maintain the defensive, making his eye, foot, 
and hand keep true time, until, observing his antagonist 
to lose wind, he darted the staff at his face with his left 
hand; and, as the Miller endeavoured to parry the thrust, 
he slid his right hand down to his left, and with the full 
swing of the weapon struck his opponent on the left side 
of the head, who instantly measured his length upon the 
green sward. 

“Well and yeomanly done!” shouted the robbers$ 
“ fair play and Old England for ever! The Saxon has 
saved both his purse and his hide, and the Miller has met 
his match.” 

“ Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend,” said the Cap¬ 
tain, addressing Gurth, in special confirmation of the 
general voice, “ and I will cause two of my comrades to 
























































































































IVANHOE. 


121 


guide thee by the best way to thy master’s pavilion, and 
to guard thee from night-walkers that might have less 
tender consciences than ours ; for there is many one of 
them upon the amble in such a night as this. Take heed, 
however,” he added sternly; “ remember thou hast re¬ 
fused to tell thy name — ask not after ours, nor endeavour 
to discover who or what we are, for, if thou makest such 
an attempt, thou wilt come by worse fortune than has yet 
befallen thee.” 

Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, and prom¬ 
ised to attend to his recommendation. Two of the out¬ 
laws, taking up their quarter-staves, and desiring Gurth 
to follow close in the rear, walked roundly forward along 
a bye-path, which traversed a thicket and the broken 
ground adjacent to it. On the very verge of the thicket 
two men spoke to his conductors, and receiving an answer 
in a whisper, withdrew into the wood, and suffered them 
to pass unmolested. This circumstance induced Gurth 
to believe both that the gang was strong in numbers, and 
that they kept regular guards around their place of ren¬ 
dezvous. 

When they arrived on the open heath, where Gurth 
might have had some trouble in finding his road, the 
thieves guided him straight forward to the top of a little 
eminence, whence he could see, spread beneath him in 
the moonlight, the palisades of the lists, the glimmering 
pavilions pitched at either end, with the pennons which 
adorned them fluttering in the moonbeam, and from 
which could be heard the hum of the song with which 
the sentinels were beguiling their night-watch. 

Here the thieves stopt. 

“ We go with you no farther,” said they ; “ it were not 
safe that we should do so. —Remember the warning you 
have received: keep secret what has this night befallen 
you, and you will have no room to repent it; neglect what 
is now told you, and the Tower of London shall not pro¬ 
tect you against our revenge.” 

“ Good night to you, kind sirs,” said Gurth ; “ I shall 
remember your orders, and trust that there is no offence 
in wishing you a safer and an honester trade.” 


122 


IVANHOE. 


Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in the direc- 
tion from whence they had come, and Gurth proceeding 
to the tent of his master, to whom, notwithstanding the 
injunction he had received, he communicated the whole 
adventures of the evening. 

The Disinherited Knight was filled with astonishment, 
no less at the generosity of Rebecca, by which, however, 
he resolved he would not profit, than that of the robbers, 
to whose profession such a quality seemed totally for¬ 
eign. His course of reflections upon these singular cir¬ 
cumstances was, however, interrupted by the necessity 
for taking repose, which the fatigue of the preceding day 
and the propriety of refreshing himself for the morrow’s 
encounter rendered alike indispensable. 

The knight, therefore, stretched himself for repose 
upon a rich couch with which the tent was provided; 
and the faithful Gurth, extending his hardy limbs upon 
a bear-skin which formed a sort of carpet to the pavilion, 
laid himself across the opening of the tent, so that no 
one could enter without awakening him. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The heralds left their pricking up and down, 

Now ringen trumpets loud and clarion. 

There is no more to say, but east and west. 

In go the speares sadly in the rest, 

In goth the sharp spur into the side, 

There see men who can just and who can ride; 

There shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick, 

He feeleth through the heart-spone the prick ; 

. Up springen speares, twenty feet in height, 

Out go the swordes as the silver bright; 

The helms they to-hewn and to-shred ; 

Out bursts the blood with stern streames red. 

Chaucer. 

Morning arose in unclouded splendour, and ere the 
sun was muck above the horizon the idlest or the most 
eager of the spectators appeared on the common, moving 
to the lists as to a general centre, in order to secure a 


IVANHOE. 123 

favourable situation for viewing the continuation of the 
expected games. 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next on 
the field, together with the heralds, for the purpose of 
receiving the names of the knights who intended to joust, 
with the side which each chose to espouse. This was a 
necessary precaution, in order to secure equality betwixt 
the two bodies who should be opposed to each other. 

According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight 
was to be considered as leader of the one body, while 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had been rated as having 
done second-best in the preceding day, was named first 
champion of the other band. Those who had concurred 
in the challenge adhered to his party, of course, except¬ 
ing only Ralph de Vipont, whom his fall had rendered 
unfit so soon to put on his armour. There was no want 
of distinguished and noble candidates to fill up the ranks 
on either side. 

In fact, although the general tournament, in which all 
knights fought at once, was more dangerous than single 
encounters, they were, nevertheless, more frequented and 
practised by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, who 
had not sufficient confidence in their own skill to defy a 
single adversary of high reputation, were, nevertheless, 
desirous of displaying their valour in the general combat, 
where they might meet others with whom they were 
more upon an equality. On the present occasion, about 
fifty knights were inscribed as desirous of combating 
Upon each side, when the marshals declared that no more 
could be admitted, to the disappointment of several who 
Were too late in preferring their claim to be included. 

About the hour of ten o’clock the wffiole plain was 
crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passen¬ 
gers, hastening to the tournament; and shortly after, a 
grand flourish of trumpets announced Prince John and 
his retinue, attended by many of those knights who 
meant to take share in the game, as well as others who 
had no such intention. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with 
the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane 


124 


IVANHOE. 


This Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person 
in armour, in order to take his place among the combat¬ 
ants ; and, considerably to the surprise of Cedric, had 
chosen to enlist himself on the part of the Knight Tem¬ 
plar. The Saxon, indeed, had remonstrated strongly 
with his friend upon the injudicious choice he had made 
of his party; but he had only received that sort of an¬ 
swer usually given by those who are more obstinate in 
following their own course than strong in justifying it. 

His best, if not his only, reason for adhering to the 
party of Brian de Bois-G-uilbert, Athelstane had the pru¬ 
dence to keep to himself. Though his apathy of disposi¬ 
tion prevented his taking any means to recommend him¬ 
self to the Lady Bowena, he was, nevertheless, by no 
means insensible to her charms, and considered his union 
with her as a matter already fixed beyond doubt by*the 
assent of Cedric and her other friends. It had therefore 
been with smothered displeasure that the proud though 
indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld the victor of the 
preceding day select Rowena as the object of that honour 
which it became his privilege to confer. In order to 
punish him for a preference which seemed to interfere 
with his own suit, Athelstane, confident of his strength, 
and to whom his flatterers, at least, ascribed great skill 
in arms, -had determined not only to deprive the .Disin¬ 
herited Knight of his powerful succour, but, if an oppor¬ 
tunity should occur, to make him feel the weight of his 
battle-axe. 

De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince John, 
in obedience to a hint from him, had joined the party of 
the challengers, John being desirous to secure, if possi¬ 
ble, the victory to that side. On the other hand, many 
other knights, both English and Norman, natives and 
strangers, took part against the challengers, the more 
readily that the opposite band was to be led by so dis¬ 
tinguished a champion as the Disinherited Knight had 
proved himself. 

As soon as Prince John observed that the destined 
Queen of the day had arrived upon the field, assuming 
that aii of courtesy which sat well upon him when he 


IVANHOE. 


125 


was pleased to exhibit it, he rode forward to meet her, 
doffed his bonnet, and, alighting from his horse, assisted 
the Lady Rowena from her saddle, while his followers 
uncovered at the same time, and one of the most distin¬ 
guished dismounted to hold her palfrey. 

“ It is thus ,’ 5 said Prince John, “that we set the duti¬ 
ful example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, 
and are ourselves her guide to the throne which she must 
this day occupy.—Ladies,” he said, “ attend your Queen, 
as you wish in your turn to be distinguished by like 
honours.” 

So saying, the Prince marshalled Rowena to the seat 
of honour opposite his own, while the fairest and most 
distinguished ladies present crowded after her to obtain 
places as near as possible to their temporary sovereign. 

No sooner was Rowena seated than a burst of music, 
half drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted her 
new dignity. Meantime, the sun shone fierce and bright 
upon the polished arms of the knights of either side, 
who crowded the opposite extremities of the lists, and 
held eager conference together concerning the best 
mode of arranging their line of battle and supporting 
the conflict. 

The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of 
the tourney should be rehearsed. These were calculated 
in some degree to abate the dangers of the day — a pre¬ 
caution the more necessary as the conflict was to be main¬ 
tained with sharp swords and pointed lances. 

The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust 
with the sword, and were confined to striking. A knight, 
it was announced, might use a mace or battle-axe at 
pleasure; but the dagger was a prohibited weapon. A 
knight unhorsed might renew the fight on foot with any 
other on the opposite side in the same predicament; but 
mounted horsemen were in that case forbidden to assail 
him. When any knight could force his antagonist to the 
extremity of the lists, so as to touch the palisade with 
his person or arms, such opponent was obliged to yield 
himself vanquished, and his armour and horse were 
placed at the disposal of the conqueror. A knight thus 


126 


IVANHOE. 


overcome was not permitted to take farther share in the 
combat. If any combatant was struck down, and unable 
to recover his feet, his squire or page might enter the 
lists and drag his master out of the press; but in that 
case the knight was adjudged vanquished, and his arms 
and horse declared forfeited. The combat was to cease 
as soon as Prince John should throw down his leading 
staff, or truncheon — another precaution usually talj:en to 
prevent the unnecessary effusion of blood by the too long 
endurance of a sport so desperate. Any knight breaking 
the rules of the tournament, or otherwise transgressing 
the rules of honourable chivalry, was liable to be stript 
of his arms, and, having his shield reversed, to be placed 
in that posture astride upon the bars of the palisade, and 
exposed to public derision, in punishment of his un- 
knightly conduct. Having announced these precautions, 
the heralds concluded with an exhortation to each good 
knight to do his duty, and to merit favour from the 
Queen of Beauty and Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds with¬ 
drew to their stations. The knights, entering at either 
end of the lists in long procession, arranged themselves 
in a double file, precisely opposite to each other, the 
leader of each party being in the centre of the foremost 
rank, a post which he did not occupy until each had care¬ 
fully arranged the ranks of his party, and stationed every 
one in his place. 

It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, sight 
to behold so many gallant champions, mounted bravely 
and armed richly, stand ready prepared for an encounter 
so formidable, seated on their war-saddles like so many 
pillars of iron, and awaiting the signal of encounter with 
the same ardour as their generous steeds, which, by 
neighing and pawing the ground, gave signal of their 
impatience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, their 
bright points glancing to the sun, and the streamers with 
which they were decorated fluttering over the plumage 
of the helmets. Thus they remained while the marshals 
of the field surveyed their ranks with the utmost exact* 


I VAN HOE. 


127 


ness, lest either party had more or fewer than the ap 
pointed number. The tale was found exactly complete. 
The marshals then withdrew from the lists, and William 
de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronounced the signal 
words, “ Laissez alter!” The trumpets sounded as he 
spoke — the spears of the champions were at once low¬ 
ered and placed in the rests — the spurs were dashed into 
the flanks of the horses, and the two foremost ranks of 
either party rushed upon each other in full gallop, and 
met in the middle of the lists with a shock the sound of 
which was heard at a mile’s distance. The rear rank of 
each party advanced at a slower pace to sustain the 
defeated, and follow up the success of the victors, of 
their party. 

The consequences of the encounter were not instantly 
seen, for the dust raised by the trampling of so many 
steeds darkened the air, and it was a minute ere the 
anxious spectators could see the fate of the encounter. 
When the fight became visible, half the knights on each 
side were dismounted — some by the dexterity of their 
adversary’s lance; some by the superior weight and 
strength of opponents, which had borne down both horse 
and man; some lay stretched on earth as if never more 
to rise; some had already gained their feet, and were 
closing hand to hand with those of their antagonists who 
were in the same predicament; and several on both sides, 
who had received wounds by which they were disabled, 
were stopping their blood by their scarfs, and endeav¬ 
ouring to extricate themselves from the tumult. The 
mounted knights, whose lances had been almost all broken 
by the fury of the encounter, were now closely engaged 
with their swords, shouting their war-cries, and exchang¬ 
ing buffets, as if honour and life depended on the issue 
of the combat. 

The tumult was presently increased by the advance of 
the second rank on either side, which, acting as a reserve, 
now rushed on to aid their companions. The followers 
of Brian de Bois-Guilbert shouted: “ Ha! Beau-seant! 
Beau-seant! Foe the Temple ! For the Temple ! ” The 
opposite party shouted in answer: “ Desdichado ! Desdi - 


128 


IVANHOE. 


chado!” which watchword they took from the motto 
upon their leader’s shield. 

The champions thus encountering each other with the 
utmost fury, and with alternate success, the tide of battle 
seemed to flow now toward the southern, now toward the 
northern, extremity of the lists, as the one or the other 
party prevailed. Meantime the clang of the blows and the 
shouts of the combatants mixed fearfully with the sound 
of the trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who 
fell, and lay rolling defenceless beneath the feet of the 
horses. The splendid armour of the combatants was 
now defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at 
every stroke of the sword and battle-axe. The gay 
plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted upon the breeze 
like snow-flakes. All that was beautiful and graceful 
in the martial array had disappeared, and what was 
now visible was only calculated to awake terror or com¬ 
passion. 

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar 
spectators, who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, 
but even the ladies of distinction, who -crowded the gal¬ 
leries, saw the conflict with a thrilling interest certainly, 
but without a wish to withdraw their eyes from a sight 
so terrible. Here and there, indeed, a fair cheek might 
turn pale, or a faint scream might be heard, as a lover, 
a brother, or a husband was struck from his horse. But, 
in general, the ladies around encouraged the combatants, 
not only by clapping their hands and waving their veils 
and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, “ Brave lance!’ 
Good sword! ” when any successful thrust or blow took 
place under their observation. 

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this 
bloody game, that of the men is the more easily under¬ 
stood. It showed itself in loud acclamations upon every 
change of fortune, while all eyes were so riveted on the 
lists that the spectators seemed as if they themselves 
had dealt and received the blows which were there so 
freely bestowed. And between every pause was heard 
the voice of the heralds exclaiming, “Fight on, brave 
knights ! Man dies, but glory lives ! — Fight on — death 


IVANHOE. 129 

is better than defeat! — Fight on, brave knights! — for 
bright eyes behold your deeds! ” 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of 
all endeavoured to discover the leaders of each band, 
who, mingling in the thick of the fight, encouraged their 
companions both by voice and example. Both displayed 
great feats of gallantry, nor did either Bois-Guilbert or 
the Disinherited Knight find in the ranks opposed to 
them a champion who could be termed their unquestioned 
match. They repeatedly endeavoured to single out each 
other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that the 
fall of either leader might be considered as decisive of 
victory. Such, however, was the crowd and confusion 
that, during the earlier part of the conflict, their efforts 
to meet were unavailing, and they were repeatedly sepa¬ 
rated by the eagerness of their followers, each of whom 
was anxious to win honour by measuring his strength 
against the leader of the opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers on 
either side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had 
been compelled to the extremity of the lists, or been other¬ 
wise rendered incapable of continuing the strife, the Tem¬ 
plar and the Disinherited Knight at length encountered 
hand to hand, with all the fury that mortal animosity, 
joined to rivalry of honour, could inspire. Such was the 
address of each in parrying and striking, that the spec¬ 
tators broke forth into a unanimous and involuntary shout, 
expressive of their delight and admiration. 

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight 
had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de-Boeuf on the 
one flank, and the ponderous strength of Athelstane on 
the other, bearing down and dispersing those immediately 
exposed to them. Finding themselves freed from their 
immediate antagonists, it seems to have occurred to both 
these knights at the same instant that they would render 
the most decisive advantage to their party by aiding the 
Templar in his contest with his rival. Turning their 
horses, therefore, at the same moment, the Norman 
spurred against the Disinherited Knight on the one side 
and the Saxon on the other. It was utterly impossible 


130 


IYANHOE. 


that the object of this unequal and unexpected assault 
could have sustained it, had he not been warned by a 
general cry from the spectators, who could not but take 
interest in one exposed to such disadvantage. 

“ Beware! beware ! Sir Disinherited! ” was shouted so 
universally that the knight became aware of his danger • 
and striking a full blow at the Templar, he reined back 
his steed in the same moment, so as to escape the charge 
of Athelstane and Front-de-Boeuf. These knights, there¬ 
fore, their aim being thus eluded, rushed from opposite 
sides betwixt the object of their attack and the Templar, 
almost running their horses against each other ere they 
could stop their career. Becovering their horses, how* 
ever, and wheeling them round, the whole three pursued 
their united purpose of bearing to the earth the Disin ¬ 
herited Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him except the remarkable 
strength and activity of the noble horse which he had 
won on the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois- 
Guilbert was wounded, and those of Front-de-Boeuf and 
Athelstane were both tired with the weight of their gigan¬ 
tic masters, clad in complete armour, and with the pre¬ 
ceding exertions of the day. The masterly horsemanship 
of the Disinherited Knight, and the activity of the noble 
animal which he mounted, enabled him for a few minutes 
to keep at sword’s point his three antagonists, turning 
and wheeling with the agility of a hawk upon the wing, 
keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, and rush- 
mg now against the one, now against the other, dealing 
sweeping blows with his sword, without waiting to receive 
1 Hose which were aimed at him in return. 

But although the lists rang with the applauses of his 
dexterity, it was evident that he must at last be over¬ 
powered; and the nobles around Prince John implored 
him with one voice to throw down his warder, and to 
save so brave a knight from the disgrace of being over¬ 
come by odds. 

“ Not I, by the light of Heaven! ” answered Prince 
John; “this same springal, who conceals his name and 


IVAN HOE. 


131 


despises our proffered hospitality, hath already gained 
one prize, and may now afford to let others have their 
turn.” As he spoke thus, an unexpected incident changed 
the fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight 
a champion in black armour, mounted on a black horse, 
large of size, tall, and to all appearance powerful and 
strong, like the rider by whom he was mounted. This 
knight, who bore on his shield no device of any kind, had 
hitherto evinced very little interest in the event of the 
fight, beating off with seeming ease those combatants who 
attacked him, but neither pursuing his advantages nor 
himself assailing any one. In short, he had hitherto acted 
the part rather of a spectator than of a party in the tourna¬ 
ment, a circumstance which procured him among the spec¬ 
tators the name of Le Noir Faineant, or the Black Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, 
when he discovered the leader of his party so hard bested; 
for, setting spurs to his horse, which was quite fresh, he 
came to his assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in 
a voice like a trumpet-call, “ Desdicliado, to the rescue ! ” 
It was high time; for, while the Disinherited Knight was 
pressing upon the Templar, Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh 
to him with his uplifted sword; but ere the blow could 
descend, the Sable Knight dealt a stroke on his head, 
which, glancing from the polished helmet, lighted with 
violence scarcely abated on the chamfron of the steed, 
and Front-de-Bceuf rolled on the ground, both horse and 
man equally stunned by the fury of the blow. Le Noir 
Faineant then turned his horse upon Athelstane of Con- 
ingsburgh; and his own sword having been broken in his 
encounter with Front-de-Bceuf, he wrenched from the 
hand of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he wielded, 
and, like one familiar with the use of the weapon, be¬ 
stowed him such’ a blow upon the crest that Athelstane 
also lay senseless on the field. Having achieved this 
double feat, for which he was the more highly applauded 
that it was totally unexpected from him, the knight 
seemed to resume the sluggishness of his character, re¬ 
turning calmly to the northern extremity of the lists. 


132 


IVAN HOE. 


leaving his leader to cope as lie best could with Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer matter of so much 
difficulty as formerly. The Templar’s horse had bled 
much, and gave way under the shock of the Disinherited 
Knight’s charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbert rolled on the 
field, encumbered with the stirrup, from which he was 
unable to draw his foot. His antagonist sprung from 
horseback, waved his fatal sword over the head of his 
adversary, and commanded him to yield himself; when 
Prince John, more moved by the Templar’s dangerous 
situation than he had been by that of his rival, saved 
him the mortification of confessing himself vanquished 
by casting down his warder and putting an end to the 
conflict. 

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight 
which continued to burn; for of the few knights who 
still continued in the lists, the greater part had, by tacit 
consent, forborne the conflict for some time, leaving it to 
be determined by the strife of the leaders. 

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and 
difficulty to attend their masters during the engagement, 
now thronged into the lists to pay their dutiful attend¬ 
ance to the wounded, who were removed with fhe utmost 
care and attention to the neighbouring pavilions, or to 
the quarters prepared for them in the adjoining village. 

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, 
one of the most gallantly contested tournaments of that 
age; for although only four knights, including one who 
was smothered by the heat of his armour, had died upon 
the field, yet upwards of thirty were desperately wounded, 
four or five of whom never recovered. Several more were 
disabled for life; and those who escaped best, carried the 
marks of the conflict to the grave with them. Hence it 
is always mentioned in the old records as the Gentle and 
Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby. 

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the 
knight who had done best, he determined that the honour 
of the day remained with the knight whom the popular 
voice had termed Le Noir Faineant. It was pointed out 
to the Prince, in impeachment of this decree, that the vie* 


IVANHOE. 


133 


tory had been in fact won by the Disinherited Knight, 
who, in the course of the day, had overcome six cham¬ 
pions with his own hand, and who had finally unhorsed 
and struck down the leader of the opposite party. But 
Prince John adhered to his own opinion, on the ground 
that the Disinherited Knight and his party had lost the 
day but for the powerful assistance of the Knight of the 
Black Armour, to whom, therefore, he persisted in award¬ 
ing the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight thus 
preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left the lists 
immediately when the conflict ceased, and had been ob¬ 
served by some spectators to move down one of the forest 
glades with the same slow pace and listless and indiffer¬ 
ent manner which had procured him the epithet of the 
Black Sluggard. After he had been summoned twice by 
sound of trumpet and proclamation of the heralds, it 
became necessary to name another to receive the honours 
which had been assigned to him. Prince John had now 
no further excuse for resisting the claim of the Disinher¬ 
ited Knight, whom, therefore, he named the champion of 
the day. 

Through a field slippery with blood and encumbered 
with broken armour and the bodies of slain and wounded 
horses, the marshals of the lists again conducted the vic¬ 
tor to the foot of Prince John’s throne. 

“Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “since by 
that title only you will consent to be known to us, we a 
second time award to you the honours of this tournament, 
and announce to you your right to claim and receive from 
the hands of the Queen of Love and Beauty the chaplet 
of honour which your valour has justly deserved.” 

The Knight bowed low and gracefully, but returned no 
answer. 

While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained 
their voices in proclaiming honour to the brave and glory 
to the victor, while ladies waved their silken kerchiefs 
and embroidered veils, and while all ranks joined in a 
clamorous shout of exultation, the marshals conducted 
the Disinherited Knight across the lists to the foot of 


134 


IVANHOE. 


that throne of honour which was occupied by the Lady 
Rowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was 
made to kneel down. Indeed, his whole action since the 
fight had ended seemed rather to have been upon the im¬ 
pulse of those around him than from his own free will ; 
and it was observed that he tottered as they guided him 
the second time across the lists. Rowena, descending 
from her station with a graceful and dignified step, was 
about to place the chaplet which she held in her hand 
upon the helmet of the champion, when the marshals ex¬ 
claimed with one voice, “ It must not be thus — his head 
must be bare.” The Knight muttered faintly a few words, 
which were lost in the hollow of his helmet; but their 
purport seemed to be a desire that his casque might not 
be removed. 

Whether from love of form or from curiosity, the mar¬ 
shals paid no attention to his expressions of reluctance, 
but unhelmed him by cutting the laces of his casque, and 
undoing the fastening of his gorget. When the helmet 
was removed, the well-formed yet sunburnt features of a 
young man of twenty-five were seen, amidst a profusion 
of short fair hair. His countenance was as pale as death, 
and marked in one or two places with streaks of blood. 

Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a 
faint shriek; but at once summoning up the energy of 
her disposition, and compelling herself, as it were, to 
proceed, while her frame yet trembled with the violence 
of sudden emotion, she placed upon the drooping head of 
the victor the splendid chaplet which was the destined 
reward of the day, and pronounced in a clear and distinct 
tone these words: “ I bestow on thee this chaplet, Sir 
Knight, as the meed of valour assigned to this day’s vic¬ 
tor.” Here she paused a moment, and then firmly added, 
“ And upon brows more worthy could a wreath of chivalry 
never be placed! ” 

The knight stooped his head and kissed the hand of the 
lovely Sovereign by whom his valour had been rewarded; 
and then, sinking yet farther forward, lay prostrate at 
her feet. 


IVANHOE. 


135 


There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had 
been struck mute by the sudden appearance of his ban¬ 
ished son, now rushed forward, as if to separate him from 
Rowena. But this had been already accomplished by the 
marshals of the field, whft, guessing the cause of Ivanhoe’s 
swoon, had hastened to undo his armour, and found that 
the head of a lance had penetrated his breastplate and 
inflicted a wound in his side. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

‘ Heroes, approach ! ’ Atrides thus aloud ; 

‘ Stand forth distinguish’d from the circling crowd, 

Ye who by skill and manly force may claim 
Your rivals to surpass and merit fame. 

This cow, worth twenty oxen, is decreed 
For him who farthest sends the winged reed. ’ 

Iliad. 

The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced than 
it flew from mouth to mouth with all the celerity with 
which eagerness could convey and curiosity receive it. 
It was not long ere it reached the circle of the Prince, 
whose brow darkened as he heard the news. Looking 
around him, however, with an air of scorn, “ My lords,” 
said he, “ and especially you, Sir Prior, what think ye of 
the doctrine the learned tell us concerning innate attrac¬ 
tions and antipathies ? Methinks that I felt the presence 
of my brother’s minion, even when I least guessed whom 
yonder suit of armour inclosed.” 

“ Eront-de-Boeuf must prepare to restore his fief of 
Ivanhoe,” said De Bracy, who, having discharged his 
part honourably in the tournament, had laid his shield 
and helmet aside, and again mingled with the Prince’s 
retinue. 

“Ay,” answered Waldemar Fitzurse, “this gallant is 
likely to reclaim the castle and manor which Richard 
assigned to him, and which your Highness’s generosity 
has since given to Front-de-Boeuf.” 

“Front-de-Boeuf,” replied John, “is a man more will- 


136 


IVANHOE. 


ing to swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe than to dis¬ 
gorge one of them. For the rest, sirs, I hope none here 
will deny my right to confer the fiefs of the crown upon 
the faithful followers who are around me, and ready to 
perform the usual military service, in the room of those 
who have wandered to foreign countries, and can neither 
render homage nor service when called upon.” 

The audience were too much interested in the question 
not to pronounce the Prince’s assumed right altogether 
indubitable. “ A generous Prince! a most noble Lord, 
who thus takes upon himself the task of rewarding his 
faithful followers! ” 

Such were the words which burst from the train, ex¬ 
pectants all of them of similar grants at the expense 
of King Richard’s followers and favourites, if indeed they 
had not as yet received such. Prior Aymer also assented 
to the general proposition, observing, however, “That 
the blessed Jerusalem could not indeed be termed a for¬ 
eign country. She was communis mater —the mother of 
all Christians. But he saw not,” he declared, “ how the 
Knight of Ivanhoe could plead any advantage from this, 
since he ” (the Prior) “ was assured that the crusaders 
under Richard had never proceeded much farther than 
Askalon, which, as all the world knew, was a town of the 
Philistines, and entitled to none of the privileges of the 
Holy City.” 

Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towards the 
place where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground, now re¬ 
turned. “ The gallant,” said he, “ is likely to give your 
Highness little disturbance, and to leave Front-de-Boeuf in 
the quiet possession of his gains; he is severely wounded.” 

“Whatever becomes of him,” said Prince John, “he is 
victor of the day ; and were he tenfold our enemy, or the 
devoted friend of our brother, which is perhaps the same, 
his wounds must be looked to — our own physician shall 
attend him.” 

A stern smile curled the Prince’s lip as he spoke. 
Waldemar Fitzurse hastened to reply that Ivanhoe was 
already removed from the lists, and in the custody of his 
friends. 


IVANHOE. 


137 


“ I was somewhat afflicted,” he said, “ to see the grief 
of the Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereignty of 
a day this event has changed into mourning. I am not a 
man to be moved by a woman’s lament for her lover, but 
this same Lady Rowena suppressed her sorrow with such 
dignity of manner that it could only be discovered by her 
folded hands and her tearless eye, which trembled as it 
remained fixed on the lifeless form before her.” 

“ Who is this Lady Rowena,” said Prince John, “of 
whom we have heard so much ? ” 

“ A Saxon heiress of large possessions,” replied the 
Prior Aymer; “arose of loveliness, and a jewel of wealth; 
the fairest among a thousand, a bundle of myrrh, and a 
cluster of camphire.” 

“We shall cheer her sorrows,” said Prince John, “and 
amend her blood, by wedding her to a hKrman. She 
seems a minor, and must therefore be at our royal disposal 
in marriage. — How sayst thou, De Bracy ? What 
thinkst thou of gaining fair lands and livings, by wed¬ 
ding a Saxon, after the fashion of the followers of the 
Conqueror ? ” 

“ If the lands are to my liking, my lord,” answered De 
Bracy, “ it will be hard to displease me with a bride; and 
deeply will I hold myself bound to your Highness for a 
good deed, which will fulfil all promises made in favour 
of your servant and vassal.” 

“We will not forget it,” said Prince John; “and that 
we may instantly go to work, command our seneschal 
presently to order the attendance of the Lady Rowena 
and her company — that is, the rude churl her guardian, 
and the Saxon ox whom the Black Knight struck down 
in the tournament — upon this evening’s banquet. — De 
Bigot,” he added to his seneschal, “ thou wilt word this 
our second summons so courteously as to gratify the 
pride of these Saxons, and make it impossible for them 
again to refuse; although, by the bones of Becket, cour¬ 
tesy to them is casting pearls before swine.” 

Prince John had proceeded thus far, and was about to 
give the signal for retiring from the lists, when a small 
billet was put into his hand. 


138 


IVANHOE . 


“From whence ? ” said Prince John, looking at the 
person by whom it was delivered. 

“ From foreign parts, my lord, but from whence I know 
not,” replied his attendant. “ A Frenchman brought it 
hither, who said he had ridden night and day to put it 
into the hands of your Highness.” 

The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription, and 
then at the seal, placed so as to secure the flox-silk with 
which the billet was surrounded, and which bore the 
impression of three fleurs-de-lis. John then opened the 
billet with apparent agitation, which visibly and greatly 
increased when he had perused the contents, which were 
expressed in these words : 

“Take heed to yourself, for the Devil is unchained ! ” 

The Prince turned as pale as death, looked first on the 
earth, and then up to heaven, like a man who has received 
news that sentence of execution has been passed upon 
him. Recovering from the first effects of his surprise, 
he took Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy aside, and put 
the billet into their hands successively. “ It means,” he 
added, in a faltering voice, “ that my brother Richard has 
obtained his freedom.” 

“ This may be a false alarm or a forged letter,” said 
De Bracy. 

“ It is France’s own hand and seal,” replied Prince John. 

“ It is time, then,” said Fitzurse, “ to draw our party 
to a head, either at York or some other centrical place. 
A few days later, and it will be indeed too late. Your 
Highness must break short this present mummery.” 

“The yeomen and commons,” said De Bracy, “must 
not be dismissed discontented, for lack of their share in 
the sports.” 

“ The day,” said Waldemar, “is not yet very far spent 
— let the archers shoot a few rounds at the target, and 
the prize be adjudged. This will be an abundant fulfil¬ 
ment of the Prince’s promises, so far as this herd of 
Saxon serfs is concerned.” 

“ I thank thee, Waldemar,” said the Prince ; “ thou 
remindest me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that inso- 


IVAN HOE. 


139 


lent peasant who yesterday insulted our person. Our 
banquet also shall go forward to-night as we proposed. 
Were this my last hour of power, it should be an hour 
sacred to revenge and to pleasure — let new cares come 
with to-morrow’s new day.” 

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those specta¬ 
tors who had already begun to leave the field; and proc¬ 
lamation was made that Prince John, suddenly called by 
high and peremptory public duties, held himself obliged 
to discontinue the entertainments of to-morrow’s festival; 
nevertheless, that, unwilling so many good yeomen should 
depart without a trial of skill, he was pleased to appoint 
them, before leaving the ground, presently to execute the 
competition of archery intende'd for the morrow. To the 
best archer a prize was to be awarded, being a bugle- 
horn, mounted with silver, and a silken baldric richly 
ornamented with a medallion of St. Hubert, the patron 
of silvan sport. 

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves 
as competitors, several of whom were rangers and under¬ 
keepers in the royal forests of Needwood and Charn- 
wood. When, however, the archers understood with 
whom they were to be matched, upwards of twenty with¬ 
drew themselves from the contest, unwilling to encounter 
the dishonour of almost certain defeat. For in those 
days the skill of each celebrated marksman was as well 
known for many miles round him as the qualities of a 
horse trained at Newmarket are familiar to those who 
frequent that well-known meeting. 

The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame still 
amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from his royal 
seat to view more nearly the persons of these chosen 
yeomen, several of whom wore the royal livery. Having 
satisfied his curiosity by this investigation, he looked for 
the object of his resentment, whom he observed stand¬ 
ing on the same spot, and with the same composed coun¬ 
tenance which he had exhibited upon the preceding 
day. 

“ Fellow,” said Prince John, “ I guessed by thy inso¬ 
lent babble thou wert no true lover of the long-bow, and 


140 


IVANHOE. 


I see thou darest not adventure thy skill among such 
merry men as stand yonder.” 

“ Under favour, sir,” replied the yeoman, “ I have 
another reason for refraining to shoot, beside the fearing 
discomfiture and disgrace.” 

“ And what is thy other reason ? ” said Prince John, 
who, for some cause which perhaps he could not himself 
have explained, felt a painful curiosity respecting this 
individual. 

“ Because,” replied the woodsman, “I know not if 
these yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same marks; 
and because, moreover, I know not how your Grace might 
relish the winning of a third prize by one who has un¬ 
wittingly fallen under your displeasure.” 

Prince John coloured as he put the question, “ What 
is thy name, yeoman ? ” 

“ Locksley,” answered the yeoman. 

“Then, Locksley,” said Prince John, “thou shalt 
shoot in thy turn, when these yeomen have displayed 
their skill. If thou carriest the prize, I will add to it 
twenty nobles; but if thou losest it, thou shalt be stript 
of thy Lincoln green and scourged out of the lists with 
bowstrings, for a wordy and insolent braggart.” 

“ And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager ? ” 
said the yeoman. “ Your Grace’s power, supported, as it 
is, by so many men-at-arms, may indeed easily strip and 
scourge me, but cannot compel me to bend or to draw 
my bow.” 

“If thou refusest my fair proffer,” said the Prince, 
“ the Provost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break 
thy bow and arrows, and expel thee from the presence 
as a faint-hearted craven.” 

“ This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince,” 
said the yeoman, “ to compel me to peril myself against 
the best archers of Leicester and Staffordshire, under 
the penalty of infamy if they should overshoot me 
Nevertheless, I will obey your pleasure.” 

“Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince John, 
u his heart is sinking; I am jealous lest he attempt 
to escape the trial. — And do you, good fellows, shoot 


IVANHOE. 


141 


boldly round; a buck and a butt of wine are ready for 
your refreshment in yonder tent, when the prize is 
won.” 

A target was placed at the upper end of the southern 
avenue which led to the lists. The contending archers 
took their station in turn, at the bottom of the southern 
access; the distance between that station and the mark 
allowing full distance for what was called a shot at 
rovers. The archers having previously determined by ' 
lot their order of precedence, were to shoot each three 
shafts in succession. The sports were regulated by an 
officer of inferior rank, termed the Provost of the games; 
for the high rank of the marshals of the lists would have 
been held degraded had they condescended to superin¬ 
tend the sports of the yeomanry. 

One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered 
their shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four 
arrows shot in succession, ten were fixed in the target, 
and the others ranged so near it that, considering the 
distance of the mark, it was accounted good archery. 
Of the ten shafts which hit the target, two within the 
inner ring were shot by Hubert, a forester in the service 
of Malvoisin, who was accordingly pronounced victorious. 

“Now, Locksley,” said Prince John to the bold yeo¬ 
man, with a bitter smile, “ wilt thou try conclusions with 
Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver to 
the Provost of the sports ? ” 

“ Sith it be no better,” said Locksley, “ I am content 
to try my fortune; on condition that when I have shot 
two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall be bound 
to shoot one at that which I shall propose.” 

“ That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “ and it 
shall not be refused thee. — If thou dost beat this brag¬ 
gart, Hubert, I will fill the bugle with silver pennies for 
thee.” 

“ A man can but do his best,” answered Hubert; “ but 
my grandsire drew a good long-bow at Hastings, and I 
trust not to dishonour his memory.” 

The former target was now removed, and a fresh one 
of the same size placed in its room. Hubert, who, as 


142 


IVANHOE . 


victor in the first trial of skill, had the right to shoot 
first, took his aim with great deliberation, long measur¬ 
ing the distance with his eye, while he held in his hand 
his bended bow, with the arrow placed on the string. 
At length he made a step forward, and raising the bow at 
the full stretch of his left arm, till the centre or grasp¬ 
ing-place was nigh level with his face, he drew his bow¬ 
string to his ear. The arrow whistled through the air, 
and lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not 
exactly in the centre. 

“ You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,” said 
his antagonist, bending his bow, “or that had been a 
better shot.” 

So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to 
pause upon his aim, Locksley stept to the appointed 
station, and shot his arrow as carelessly in appearance 
as if he had not even looked at the mark. He was 
speaking almost at the instant that the shaft left the 
bowstring, yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer 
to the white spot which marked the centre than that of 
Hubert. 

“By the light of Heaven!” said Prince John to 
Hubert, “an thou suffer that runagate knave to over¬ 
come thee, thou art worthy of the gallows! ” 

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. “ An 
your Highness were to hang me,” he said, “ a man can 
but do his best. Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a 
good bow-” 

“ The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his genera¬ 
tion ! ” interrupted John. “ Shoot, knave, and shoot thy 
best, or it shall be the worse for thee! ” 

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not 
neglecting the caution which he had received from his 
adversary, he made the necessary allowance for a very 
light air of wind which had just arisen, and shot so suc¬ 
cessfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre of 
the target. 

“ A Hubert! a Hubert! ” shouted the populace, more 
interested in a known person than in a stranger. “ Ic 
the clout! — in the clout! — a Hubert forever ! ” 



IVANHOE. 


143 


“ Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said the 
Prince, with an insulting smile. 

“ I will notch his shaft for him, however,” replied 
Locksley. 

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution 
than before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, 
which it split to shivers. The people who stood around 
were so astonished at his wonderful dexterity that they 
could not even give vent to their surprise in their usual 
clamour. “ This must be the devil, and no man of flesh 
and blood,” whispered the yeomen to each other; “ such 
archery was never seen since a bow was first bent in 
Britain.” 

“ And now,” said Locksley, “ I will crave your Grace’s 
permission to plant such a mark as is used in the North 
Country; and welcome every brave yeoman who shall try a 
shot at it to win a smile from the bonny lass he loves best.” 

He then turned to leave the lists. “ Let your guards 
attend me,” he said, “ if you please; I go but to cut a 
rod from the next willow-bush.” 

Prince John made a signal that some attendants should 
follow him in case of his escape; but the cry of “ Shame! 
shame! ” which burst from the multitude induced him 
to alter his ungenerous purpose. 

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow 
wand about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and 
rather thicker than a man’s thumb. He began to peel 
this with great composure, observing at the same time 
that to ask a good woodsman to shoot at a target so 
broad as had hitherto been used was to put shame upon 
his skill. “ For his own part,” he said, “ and in the land 
where he was bred, men would as soon take for their 
mark King Arthur’s round table, which held sixty knights 
around it. A child of seven years old,” he said, “ might 
hit yonder target with a headless shaft; but,” added he, 
walking deliberately to the other end of the lists, and 
sticking the willow wand upright in the ground, ‘‘ he 
that hits that rod at fivescore yards, I call him an archer 
fit to bear both bow and quiver before a king, an it were 
the stout King Bichard himself.” 


144 


IVANHOE. 


“ My grandsire,” said Hubert, “ drew a good bow at 
the battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a mark in 
his life — and neither will I. If this young yeoman can 
cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers — or rather, I 
yield to the devil that is in his jerkin, and not to any 
human skill; a man can but do his best, and I will not 
shoot where I am sure to miss. I might as well shoot at 
the edge of our parson’s whittle, or at a wheat straw, or 
at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which I can 
hardly see.” 

“ Cowardly dog! ” said Prince John. “ Sirrah Locks- 
ley, do thou shoot; but if thou hittest such a mark, I 
will say thou art the first man ever did so. Howe’er it 
be, thou shalt not crow over us with a mere show of- 
superior skill.” 

“ I will do my best, as Hubert says,” answered Locks- 
ley; “ no man can do more.” 

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present 
occasion looked with attention to his weapon, and changed 
the string, which he thought was no longer truly round, 
having been a little frayed by the two former shots. He 
then took his aim with some deliberation, and the multi¬ 
tude awaited the event in breathless silence. The archer 
vindicated their opinion of his skill; his arrow split the 
willow rod against which it was aimed. A jubilee of 
acclamations followed; and even Prince John, in admira¬ 
tion of Locksley’s skill, lost for an instant his dislike to 
his person. “ These twenty nobles,” he said, “ which, 
with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are thine own; we 
will make them fifty if thou wilt take livery and service 
with us as a yeoman of our body-guard, and be near to 
our person. For never did so strong a hand bend a bow 
or so true an eye direct a shaft.” 

“Pardon me, noble Prince,” said Locksley; “but I 
have vowed that, if ever I take service, it should be with 
your royal brother King Richard. These twenty nobles 
I leave to Hubert, who has this day drawn as brave a 
bow as his grandsire did at Hastings. Had his modesty 
not refused the trial, he would have hit the wand as well 
as I.” 


IVANHOE. 


145 


Hubert shook his head as h,e received with reluctance 
the bounty of the stranger; and Locksley, anxious to 
escape further observation, mixed with the crowd, and 
was seen no more. 

The victorious archer would not perhaps have escaped 
John’s attention so easily, had not that Prince had other 
subjects of anxious and more important meditation press¬ 
ing upon his mind at that instant. He called upon his 
chamberlain as he gave the signal for retiring from the 
lists, and commanded him instantly to gallop to Ashby 
and seek out Isaac the Jew. “Tell the dog,” he said, 
“to send me, before sundown, two thousand crowns. He 
knows the security; but thou mayst show him this ring 
for a token. The rest of the money must be paid at 
York within six days. If he neglects, I will have the 
unbelieving villain’s head. Look that thou pass him not 
on the way; for the circumcised slave was displaying his 
stolen finery amongst us.” 

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and re¬ 
turned to Ashby, the whole crowd breaking up and dis¬ 
persing upon his retreat. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

In rough magnificence array’d, 

When ancient Chivalry display’d 
The pomp of her heroic games, 

And crested chiefs and tissued dames 
Assembled, at the clarion’s call, 

In some proud castle’s high arch’d hall. 

Warton. 

Prince John held his high festival in the Castle of 
Ashby. This was not the same building of which the 
stately ruins still interest the traveller, and which was 
erected at a later period by the Lord Hastings, High 
Chamberlain of England, one of the first victims of the 
tyranny of Richard the Third, and yet better known as 
one of Shakespeare’s characters than by his historical 
fame. The castle and town of Ashby, at this time, be- 

i 


146 


IVAN ROE. 


longed to Roger de Quincy, Earl of Winchester, who, 
during the period of our history, was absent in the Holy 
Land. Prince John, in the meanwhile, occupied his 
castle, and disposed of his domains without scruple; and 
seeking at present to dazzle men’s eyes by his hospitality 
and magnificence, had given orders for great preparations, 
in order to render the banquet as splendid as possible. 

The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on this 
and other occasions the full authority of royalty, had 
swept the country of all that could be collected which 
was esteemed fit for their master’s table. Guests also 
were invited in great numbers; and in the necessity 
in which he then found himself of courting popularity, 
Prince John had extended his invitation to a few distin¬ 
guished Saxon and Danish families, as well as to the 
Norman nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood. How¬ 
ever despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, the 
great numbers of the Anglo-Saxons must necessarily 
render them formidable in the civil commotions which 
seemed approaching, and it was an obvious point of policy 
to secure popularity with their leaders. 

It was accordingly the Prince’s intention, which he for 
some time maintained, to treat these unwonted guests 
with a courtesy to which they had been little accustomed. 
But although no man with less scruple made his ordinary 
habits and feelings blend to his interest, it was the mis¬ 
fortune of this Prince that his levity and petulance were 
perpetually breaking out, and undoing all that had been 
gained by his previous dissimulation. 

Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable example in 
Ireland, when sent thither by his father, Henry the Sec¬ 
ond, with the purpose of buying golden opinions of the 
inhabitants of that new and important acquisition to the 
English crown. Upon this occasion the Irish chieftains 
contended which should first offer to the young Prince 
their loyal homage and the kiss of peace. But, instead 
of receiving their salutations with courtesy, John and his 
petulant attendants could not resist the temptation of 
pulling the long beards of the Irish chieftains — a con¬ 
duct which, as might have been expected, was highly 


IVANHOE. 


147 


resented by these insulted dignitaries, and produced fatal 
consequences to the English domination in Ireland. It 
is necessary to keep these inconsistencies of John’s char¬ 
acter in view, that the reader may understand his con¬ 
duct during the present evening. 

In execution of the resolution which he had formed 
during his cooler moments, Prince John received Cedric 
and Athelstane with distinguished courtesy, and ex¬ 
pressed his disappointment, without resentment, when 
the indisposition of Fowena was alleged by the former 
as a reason for her not attending upon his gracious sum¬ 
mons. Cedric and Athelstane were both dressed in the 
ancient Saxon garb, which, although not unhandsome in 
itself, and in the present instance composed of costly 
materials, was so remote in shape and appearance from 
that of the other guests that Prince John took great 
credit to himself with Waldemar Fitzurse for refraining 
from laughter at a sight which the fashion of the day 
rendered ridiculous. Yet, in the eye of sober judgment, 
the short close tunic and long mantle of the Saxons was 
a more graceful, as well as a more convenient, dress than 
the garb of the Normans, whose under-garment was a 
long doublet, so loose as to resemble a shirt or a wag¬ 
goner’s frock, covered by a cloak of scanty dimensions, 
neither fit to defend the wearer from cold or from rain, 
and the only purpose of which appeared to be to display 
as much fur, embroidery, and jewellery work as the in¬ 
genuity of the tailor could contrive to lay upon it. The 
Emperor Charlemagne, in whose reign they were first 
introduced, seems to have been very sensible of the in¬ 
conveniences arising from the fashion of this garment. 
“ In Heaven’s name,” said he, “ to what purpose serve 
these abridged cloaks ? If we are in bed they are no 
cover, on horseback they are no protection from the wind 
and rain, and when seated they do not guard our legs 
from the damp or the frost.” 

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the 
short cloaks continued in fashion down to the time of 
which we treat, and particularly among the princes of the 
House of Anjou. They were therefore in universal use 


148 


IVANHOE. 


among Prince John’s courtiers; and the long mantle, 
which formed the upper garment of the Saxons, was held 
in proportional derision. 

The guests were seated at a table which groaned under 
the quantity of good cheer. The numerous cooks who 
attended on the Prince’s progress, having exerted all 
their art in varying the forms in which the ordinary pro¬ 
visions were served up, had succeeded almost as well as 
the modern professors of the culinary art in rendering 
them perfectly unlike their natural appearance. Besides 
these dishes of domestic origin, there were various deli¬ 
cacies brought from foreign parts, and a quantity of rich 
pastry, as well as of the simnel bread and wastel cakes, 
which were only used at the tables of the highest nobility. 
The banquet was crowned with the richest wines, both 
foreign and domestic. 

But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not, 
generally speaking, an intemperate race. While indulg¬ 
ing themselves in the pleasures of the table, they aimed 
at delicacy, but avoided excess, and were apt to attribute 
gluttony and drunkenness to the vanquished Saxons, as 
vices peculiar to their inferior station. Prince John, 
indeed, and those who courted his pleasure by imitating 
his foibles, were apt to indulge to excess in the pleasures 
of the trencher and the goblet; and, indeed, it is well 
known that his death was occasioned by a surfeit upon 
peaches and new ale. His conduct, however, was an ex¬ 
ception to the general manners of his countrymen. 

With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs 'to 
each other, the Norman knights and nobles beheld the 
ruder demeanour of Athelstane and Cedric at a banquet 
to the form and fashion of which they were unaccustomed. 
And while their manners were thus the subject of sar¬ 
castic observation, the untaught Saxons unwittingly trans¬ 
gressed several of the arbitrary rules established for the 
regulation of society. Now, it is well known that a man 
may with more impunity be guilty of an actual breach 
either of real good breeding or of good morals, than ap¬ 
pear ignorant of the most minute point of fashionable 
etiquette. Thus Cedric, who dried his hands with a 


tVANHOE. 


149 


towel, instead of suffering the moisture to exhale by wav¬ 
ing them gracefully in the air, incurred more ridicule 
than his companion Athelstane, when he swallowed to 
his own single share the whole of a large pasty composed 
of the most exquisite foreign delicacies, and termed at 
that time a “karum-pie.” When, however, it was dis¬ 
covered, by a serious cross-examination, that the Thane 
of Coningsburgh—• or Franklin, as the Normans termed 
him — had no idea what he had been devouring, and that 
he had taken the contents of the karum-pie for larks and 
pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccaficoes and night¬ 
ingales, his ignorance brought him in for an ample share 
of the ridicule which would have been more justly be¬ 
stowed on his gluttony. 

The long feast had at length its end; and, while the gob¬ 
let circulated freely, men talked of the feats of the preced¬ 
ing tournament — of the unknown victor in the archery 
games, of the Black Knight, whose self-denial had in¬ 
duced him to withdraw from the honours he had won, 
and of the gallant Ivanhoe, who had so dearly bought the 
honours of the day. The topics were treated with mili¬ 
tary frankness, and the jest and laugh went round the 
hall. The brow of Prince John alone was overclouded 
during these discussions ; some overpowering care seemed 
agitating his mind, and it was only when he received occa¬ 
sional hints from his attendants that he seemed to take 
interest in what was passing around him. On such occa¬ 
sions he would start up, quaff a cup of wine as if to 
raise his spirits, and then mingle in the conversation by 
some observation made abruptly or at random. 

“We drink this beaker,” said he, “to the health of 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, champion of this Passage of Arms, 
and grieve that his wound renders him absent from our 
board. — Let all fill to the pledge, and especially Cedric 
of Rotherwood, the worthy father of a son so promising.” 

“ No, my lord,” replied Cedric, standing up, and plac¬ 
ing on the table his untasted cup, “ I yield not the name 
of son to the disobedient youth who at once despises my 
commands and relinquishes the manners and customs 
of his fathers.” 


150 


IVANHOE. 


“ ’Tis impossible/’ cried Prince John, with well-feigned 
astonishment, “ that so gallant a knight should be an un¬ 
worthy or disobedient son! ” 

“ Yet, my lord,” answered Cedric, “ so it is with this 
Wilfred. He left my homely dwelling to mingle with 
the gay nobility of your brother’s court, where he learned 
to do those tricks of horsemanship which you prize so 
highly. He left it contrary to my wish and command; 
and in the days of Alfred that would have been termed 
disobedience — ay, and a crime severely punishable.” 

“ Alas! ” replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of 
affected sympathy, “ since your son was a follower of my 
unhappy brother, it need not be inquired where or from 
whom he learned the lesson of filial disobedience.” 

Thus spake Prince John, wilfully forgetting that, of 
all the sons of Henry the Second, though no one was free 
from the charge, he himself had been most distinguished 
for rebellion and ingratitude to his father. 

“ I think,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “ that my 
brother proposed to confer upon his favourite the rich 
manor of Ivanhoe.” 

“ He did endow him with it,” answered Cedric; “nor 
is it my least quarrel with my son that he stooped to 
hold, as a feudal vassal, the very domains which his 
fathers possessed in free and independent right.” 

“We shall then have your willing sanction, good 
Cedric,” said Prince John, “to confer this fief upon a per¬ 
son whose dignity will not be diminished by holding land 
of the British crown. — Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” he 
said, turning towards that baron, “I trust you will so 
keep the goodly barony of Ivanhoe that Sir Wilfred shall 
not incur his father’s farther displeasure by again enter¬ 
ing upon that fief.” 

“ By St. Anthony ! ” answered the black-browed giant, 
“I will consent that your Highness shall hold me a 
Saxon, if either Cedric or Wilfred, or the best that ever 
bore English blood, shall wrench from me the gift with 
which your Highness has graced me.” 

“ Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,” replied 
Cedric, offended at a mode of expression by which the 


IVANHOE. 


151 


Normans frequently expressed their habitual contempt of 
the English, “will do thee an honour as great as it is 
undeserved.'’ 

Front-de-Boeuf would have replied, but Prince John’s 
petulance and levity got the start. 

“Assuredly,” said he, “my lords, the noble Cedric 
speaks truth ; and his race may claim precedence over 
us as much in the length of their pedigrees as in the 
longitude of their cloaks.” 

“ They go before us indeed in the field — as deer before 
dogs,” said Malvoisin. 

“ And with good right may they go before us — forget 
not,” said the Prior Aymer, “the superior decency and 
decorum of their manners.” 

“ Their singular abstemiousness and temperance,” said 
Pe Bracy, forgetting the plan which promised him a. 
Saxon bride. 

“ Together with the courage and .conduct,” said Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, “by which they distinguished them¬ 
selves at Hastings and elsewhere.” 

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers, 
each in turn, followed their Prince’s example, and aimed 
a shaft of ridicule at Cedric, the face of the Saxon be¬ 
came inflamed with passion, and he glanced his eyes 
fiercely from one to another, as if the quick succession of 
so many injuries had prevented his replying to them in 
turn ; or, like a baited bull, who, surrounded by his tor¬ 
mentors, is at a loss to choose from among them the im¬ 
mediate object of his revenge. At length he spoke, in a 
voice half-choked with passion; and, addressing himself 
to Prince John as the head and front of the offence which 
he had received, “Whatever,” he said, “have been the 
follies and vices of our race, a Saxon would have been 
held nidering (the most emphatic term for abject worth¬ 
lessness) who should in his own hall, and while his own 
wine-cup passed, have treated, or suffered to be treated, 
an unoffending guest as your Highness has this day be¬ 
held me used; and whatever was the misfortune of our 
fathers on the field of Hastings, those may at least be 
silent (here he looked at Front-de-Boeuf and the Templar) 


152 


IVANHOE. 


who have within these few hours once and again lost 
saddle and stirrup before the lance of a Saxon.” 

“ By my faith, a biting jest! ” said Prince John. “ How 
like you it, sirs ? — Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and 
courage, become shrewd in wit and bold in bearing, in 
these unsettled times. — What say ye, my lords ? By 
this good light, I hold it best to take our galleys and re¬ 
turn to Normandy in time.” 

“ For fear of the Saxons ? ” said He Bracy, laughing. 
“We should need no weapon but our hunting spears to 
bring these boars to bay.” 

“A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights,” said Fitz 
urse; “ and it were well,” he added, addressing the Prince, 
“that your Highness should assure the worthy Cedric 
there is no insult intended him by jests which must sound 
but harshly in the ear of a stranger.” 

“Insult!” answered Prince John, resuming his cour¬ 
tesy of demeanour^ “I trust it will not be thought that 
I could mean or permit any to be offered in my presence. 
Here ! I fill my cup to Cedric himself, since he refuses 
to pledge his son’s health.” 

The cup went round amid the well-dissembled applause 
of the courtiers, which, however, failed to make the im¬ 
pression on the mind of the Saxon that had been designed. 
He was not naturally acute of perception, but those too 
much undervalued his understanding who deemed that 
this flattering compliment would obliterate the sense of 
the prior insult. He was silent, however, when the royal 
pledge again passed round, “ To Sir Athelstane of Con- 
ingsburgh.” 

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense 
of the honour by draining a huge goblet in answer to it. 

“ And now, sirs,” said Prince John, who began to be 
warmed with the wine which he had drank, “ having done 
justice to our Saxon guests, we will pray of them some 
requital to our courtesy. Worthy thane,” he continued, 
addressing Cedric, “ may we pray you to name to us some 
Norman whose mention may least sully your mouth, and 
to wash down with a goblet of wine all bitterness which 
the sound may leave behind it ? ” 


IVANHOE. 


153 


Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and, gliding 
behind the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him not to 
omit the opportunity of putting an end to unkindness 
betwixt the two races by naming Prince John. The 
Saxon replied not to this politic insinuation, but, rising 
up, and filling his cup to the brim, he addressed Prince 
John in these words: “ Your Highness has required that 
I should name a Norman deserving to be remembered at 
our banquet. This, perchance, is a hard task, since it 
calls on the slave to sing the praises of the master — 
upon the vanquished, while pressed by all the evils of 
conquest, to sing the praises of the conqueror. Yet I will 
name a Norman — the first in arms and in place— the 
best and the noblest of his race. And the lips that shall 
refuse to pledge me to his well-earned fame, I term false 
and dishonoured, and will so maintain them with my 
life. — I quaff this goblet to the health of Richard the 
Lion-hearted ! ” 

Prince John, who had expected that his own name 
would have closed the Saxon’s speech, started when that 
of his injured brother was so unexpectedly introduced. 
He raised mechanically the wine-cup to his lips, then 
instantly set it down, to view the demeanour of the com¬ 
pany at this unexpected proposal, which many of them 
felt it as unsafe to oppose as to comply with. Some of 
them, ancient and experienced courtiers, closely imitated 
the example of the Prince himself, raising the goblet to 
their lips, and again replacing it before them. There 
were many who, with a more generous feeling, exclaimed, 
“ Long live King Richard! and may he be speedily re¬ 
stored to us ! ” And some few, among whom were Front- 
de-Boeuf and the Templar, in sullen disdain suffered their 
goblets to stand untasted before them. But no man ven¬ 
tured directly to gainsay a pledge filled to the health of 
the reigning monarch. 

Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute, Cedric 
said to his companion, “ Up, noble Athelstane! we have 
remained here long enough, since we have requited the 
hospitable courtesy of Prince John’s banquet. Those 
who wish to know further of our rude Saxon manners 


154 


IVAN HOE. 


must henceforth, seek us in the homes of our fathers, 
since we have seen enough of royal banquets and enough 
of Norman courtesy.” 

So saying, he arose and left the banqueting-room, fol¬ 
lowed by Athelstane, and by several other guests > who, 
partaking of the Saxon lineage, held themselves insulted 
by the sarcasms of Prince John and his courtiers. 

“By the bones of St. Thomas,” said Prince John, as 
they retreated, “ the Saxon churls have borne off the 
best of the day, and have retreated with triumph ! ” 

“Conclamatium est, poculatum est,” said Prior Aymer; 
“we have drunk and we have shouted — it were time we 
left our wine flagons.” 

“ The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to-night, 
that he is in such a hurry to depart,” said De Bracy. 

“Not so, Sir Knight,” replied the Abbot; “but I must 
move several miles forward this evening upon my home¬ 
ward journey.” 

“ They are breaking up,” said the Prince in a whisper 
to Fitzurse; “ their fears anticipate the event, and this 
coward Prior is the first to shrink from me.” 

“Fear not, my lord,” said Waldemar; “I will show 
him such reasons as shall induce him to join us when we 
hold our meeting at York. — Sir Prior,” he said, “I 
must speak with you in private before you mount your 
palfrey.” 

The other guests were now fast dispersing with the 
exception of those immediately attached to Prince John’s 
faction and his retinue. 

“This, then, is the result of your advice,” said the 
Prince, turning an angry countenance upon Fitzurse; 
“that I should be bearded at my own board by a 
drunken Saxon churl, and that, on the mere sound of 
my brother’s name, men should fall off from me as if I 
had the leprosy ? ” 

“Have patience, sir,” replied his counsellor; “I might 
retort your accusation, and blame the inconsiderate 
levity which foiled my design, and misled your own 
better judgment. But this is no time for recrimination. 
De Bracy and I will instantly go among these shuffling 


1VANH0E. 155 

cowards and convince them they have gone too far to 
recede.” 

"It will be in vain,” said Prince John, pacing the 
apartment with disordered steps, and expressing himself 
with an agitation to which the wine he had drank partly 
contributed ; —“it will be in vain; they have seen the 
handwriting on the wall — they have marked the paw 
of the lion in the sand — they have heard his approach¬ 
ing roar shake the wood; nothing will reanimate their 
courage.” 

“Would to God,” said Pitzurse to De Bracy, “that 
aught could reanimate his own! His brother’s very 
name is an ague to him. Unhappy are the counsellors 
of a prince who wants fortitude and perseverance alike 
in good and in evil! ” 


CHAPTER XV. 

And yet he thinks—ha, ha, ha, ha — he thinka 
I am the tool and servant of his will. 

Well, let it be ; through all the maze of trouble 
His plots and base oppression must create. 

I’ll shape myself a way to higher things, 

And who will say ’tis wrong ? 

Basil , a Tragedy. 

No spider ever took more pains to repair the shattered 
meshes of his web than did Waldemar Fitzurse to reunite 
and combine the scattered members of Prince John’s 
cabal. Few of these were attached to him from inclina¬ 
tion, and none from personal regard. It was therefore 
necessary that Fitzurse should open to them new pros¬ 
pects of advantage, and remind them of those which they 
at present enjoyed. To the young and wild nobles he 
held out the prospect of unpunished license and uncon¬ 
trolled revelry, to the ambitious that of power, and to 
the covetous that of increased wealth and extended do¬ 
mains. The leaders of the mercenaries received a dona¬ 
tion in gold — an argument the most persuasive to their 
minds, and without which all others would have proved 


156 


IVAN HOE. 


in vain. Promises were still more liberally distributed 
than money by this active agent; and, in fine, nothing 
was left undone that could determine the wavering or 
animate the disheartened. The return of King Richard 
he spoke of as an event altogether beyond the reach of 
probability; yet, when he observed, from the doubtful 
looks and uncertain answers which he received, that this 
was the apprehension by which the minds of his accom¬ 
plices were most haunted, he boldly treated that event, 
should it really take place, as one which ought not to 
alter their political calculations. 

“ If Richard returns,” said Fitzurse, “ he returns to en¬ 
rich his needy and impoverished crusaders at the expense 
of those who did not follow him to the Holy Land. He 
returns to call to a fearful reckoning those who, during 
his absence, have done aught that can be construed of¬ 
fence or encroachment upon either the laws of the land 
or the privileges of the crown. He returns to avenge 
upon the Orders of the Temple and the Hospital the 
preference which they showed to Philip of France dur¬ 
ing the wars in the Holy Land. He returns, in fine, to 
punish as a rebel every adherent of his brother Prince 
John. Are ye afraid of his power ? ” continued the art¬ 
ful confidant of that Prince; “we acknowledge him a 
strong and valiant knight; but these are not the days of 
King Arthur, when a champion could encounter an army. 
If Richard indeed comes back, it must be alone, unfol¬ 
lowed, unfriended. The bones of his gallant army have 
whitened the sands of Palestine. The few of his follow¬ 
ers who have returned have straggled hither like this 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, beggared and broken men. — And 
what talk ye of Richard’s right of birth ? ” he proceeded, 
in answer to those who objected scruples on that head. 
“ Is Richard’s title of primogeniture more decidedly cer¬ 
tain than that of Duke Robert of Normandy, the Con¬ 
queror’s eldest son ? And yet William the Red and 
Henry, his second and third brothers, were successively 
preferred to him by the voice of the nation. Robert had 
every merit which can be pleaded for Richard: he was 
a bold knight, a good leader, generous to his friends and 


IVANHOE. 


157 


to the church, and, to crown the whole, a crusader and a 
conqueror of the Holy Sepulchre: and yet he died a blind 
and miserable prisoner in the Castle of Cardiff, because 
he opposed himself to the will of the people, who chose 
that he should not rule over them. It is our right / 5 he 
said, “ to choose from the blood royal the prince who is 
best qualified to hold the supreme power — that is,” said 
he, correcting himself, “him whose election will best 
promote the interests of the nobility. In personal quali¬ 
fications,” he added, “ it was possible that Prince John 
might be inferior to his brother Bichard; but when it 
was considered that the latter returned with the sword of 
vengeance in his hand, while the former held out rewards, 
immunities, privileges, wealth, and honours, it could not 
be doubted which was the king whom in wisdom the 
nobility were called on to support .’ 5 

These, and many more arguments, some adapted to the 
peculiar circumstances of those whom he addressed, had 
the expected weight with the nobles of Prince John’s 
faction. Most of them consented to attend the proposed 
meeting at York, for the purpose of making general ar¬ 
rangements for placing the crown upon the head of Prince 
John. 

It was late at night when, worn out and exhausted with 
his various exertions, however gratified with the result, 
Pitzurse, returning to the Castle of Ashby, met with De 
Bracy, who had exchanged his banqueting garments for 
a short green kirtle, with hose of the same cloth and 
colour, a leathern cap or headpiece, a short sword, a horn 
slung over his shoulder, a long-bow in his hand, and a 
bundle of arrows stuck in his belt. Had Pitzurse met 
this figure in an outer apartment, he would have passed 
him without notice, as one of the yeomen of the guard; 
but finding him in the inner hall, he looked at him with 
more attention, and recognised the Norman knight in the 
dress of an English yeoman. 

“ What mummery is this, De Bracy ? ” said Pitzurse, 
somewhat angrily; “is this a time for Christmas gambols 
and quaint maskings, when the fate of our master, Prince 
John, is on the very verge of decision ? Why hast thou 


158 


IVANHOE. 


not been, like me, among these heartless cravens whom 
the very name of King Richard terrifies, as it is said to 
do the children of the Saracens ? ” 

“ I have been attending to mine own business,” answered 
De Bracy, calmly, “as you, Fitzurse, have been minding 
yours.” 

“ In minding mine own business ! ” echoed Waldemar; 
“I have been engaged in that of Prince John, our joint 
patron.” 

“As if thou hadst any other reason for that, Walde¬ 
mar,” said De Bracy, “ than the promotion of thine own 
individual interest! Come, Fitzurse, we know each other 

— ambition is thy pursuit, pleasure is mine, and they 
become our different ages. Of Prince John thou thinkest 
as I do — that he is too weak to be a determined monarch, 
too tyrannical to be an easy monarch, too insolent and 
presumptuous to be a popular monarch, and too fickle 
and timid to be long a monarch of any kind. But he is 
a monarch by whom Fitzurse and De Bracy hope to rise 
and thrive; and therefore you aid him with your policy, 
and I with the lances of my Free Companions.” 

“A hopeful auxiliary,” said Fitzurse, impatiently, 
“ playing the fool in the very moment of utter necessity. 

— What on earth dost thou purpose by this absurd dis¬ 
guise at a moment so urgent ? ” 

“ To get me a wife,” answered De Bracy, coolly, “ after 
the manner of the tribe of Benjamin.” 

“The tribe of Benjamin!” said Fitzurse. “I compre¬ 
hend thee not.” 

“ Wert thou not in presence yestereven,” said De Bracy, 
“ when we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a tale in reply 
to the romance which was sung by the minstrel? — He 
told how, long since in Palestine, a deadly feud arose 
between the tribe of Benjamin and the rest of the Israel- 
itish nation; and how they cut to pieces well-nigh all the 
chivalry of that tribe; and how they swore by our blessed 
Lady that they would not permit those who remained to 
marry in their lineage; and how they became grieved for 
their vow, and sent to consult his holiness the Pope how 
they might be absolved from it; and how, by the advice 



IV AN HOE. 


159 


of the Holy Father, the youth of the tribe of Benjamin 
carried off from a superb tournament all the ladies 
who were there present, and thus won them wives with¬ 
out the consent either of their brides or their brides’ 
families.” 

“ I have heard the story,” said Fitzurse, “ though either 
the Prior or thou hast made some singular alterations in 
date and circumstances.” 

“ I tell thee,” said De Bracy, “ that I mean to purvey 
me a wife after the fashion of the tribe of Benjamin; 
which is as much os to say, that in this same equipment 
I will fall upon that herd of Saxon bullocks who have 
this night left the castle, and carry off from them the 
lovely Rowena.” 

“ Art thou mad, De Bracy ? ” said Fitzurse. “ Bethink 
thee that, though the men be Saxons, they are rich and 
powerful, and regarded with the more respect by their 
countrymen that wealth and honour are but the lot of 
few of Saxon descent.” 

“And should belong to none,” said De Bracy; “the 
work of the Conquest should be completed.” 

“ This is no time for it at least,” said Fitzurse; “ the 
approaching crisis renders the favour of the multitude 
indispensable, and Prince John cannot refuse justice to 
any one who injures their favourites.” 

“ Let him grant it if he dare,” said De Bracy; “ he will 
soon see the difference betwixt the support of such a lusty 
lot of spears as mine and that of a heartless mob of Saxon 
churls. Yet I mean no immediate discovery of myself. 
Seem I not in this garb as bold a forester as ever blew 
horn? The blame of the violence shall rest with the 
outlaws of the Yorkshire forests. I have sure spies on 
the Saxons’ motions. To-night they sleep in the convent 
of St. Wittol, or Withold, or whatever they call that churl 
of a Saxon saint, at Burton-on-Trent. Next day’s march 
brings them within our reach, and, falcon-ways, we swoop 
on them at once. Presently after I will appear in mine 
own shape, play the courteous knight, rescue the unfor¬ 
tunate and afflicted fair one from the hands of the rude 
cavishers, conduct her to Front-de-Boeui’s castle, or to 


160 


IVANHOE. 


Normandy, if it should be necessary, and produce her not 
again to her kindred until she be the bride and dame of 
Maurice de Bracy.” 

“A marvellously sage plan,” said Fitzurse, “and, as I 
think, not entirely of thine own device. — Come, be frank, 
De Bracy, who aided thee in the invention ? and who is 
to assist in the execution ? for, as I think, thine own 
band lies as far off as York.” 

“ Marry, if thou must needs know,” said De Bracy, “ it 
was the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that shaped out 
the enterprise, which the adventure of the men of Benja¬ 
min suggested to me. He is to aid me in the onslaught, 
and he and his followers will personate the outlaws, from 
whom my valorous arm is, after changing my garb, to 
rescue the lady.” 

“ By my halidome,” said Fitzurse, “ the plan was worthy 
of your united wisdom! and thy prudence, De Bracy, is 
most especially manifested in the project of leaving the 
lady in the hands of thy worthy confederate. Thou 
mayst, I think, succeed in taking her from her Saxon 
friends, but how thou wilt rescue her afterwards from the 
clutches of Bois-Guilbert seems considerably more doubt¬ 
ful. He is a falcon well accustomed to pounce on a par¬ 
tridge and to hold his prey fast.” 

“He is a Templar,” said De Bracy, “and cannot there¬ 
fore rival me in my plan of wedding this heiress; and 
to attempt aught dishonourable against the intended bride 
of De Bracy—-By heaven! were he a whole Chapter of 
his Order in his single person, he dared not do me such 
an injury! ” 

“ Then, since nought that I can say,” said Fitzurse, 
“will put this folly from thy imagination, for well I 
know the obstinacy of thy disposition, at least waste as 
little time as possible; let not thy folly be lasting as well 
as untimely.” 

“ I tell thee,” answered De Bracy, “ that it will be the 
work of a few hours, and I shall be at York at the head 
of my daring and valorous fellows, as ready to support 
any bold design as thy policy can be to form one. But 1 
hear my comrades assembling, and the steeds stamping 


IVANHOE. 161 

and neighing in the outer court. — Farewell. — I go, like 
a true knight, to win the smiles of beauty.” 

“ Like a true knight! ” repeated Fitzurse, looking after 
him; “ like a fool, I should say, or like a child, who will 
leave the most serious and needful occupation to chase 
the down of the thistle that drives past him. — But it is 
with such tools that I must work — and for whose advan¬ 
tage ? —-For that of a Prince as unwise as he is profligate, 
and as likely to be an ungrateful master as he has already 
proved a rebellious son and an unnatural brother. But he 
— he, too, is but one of the tools with wFich I labour; and, 
proud as he is, should he presume to separate his interest 
from mine, this is a secret which he shall soon learn.” 

The meditations of the statesman were here interrupted 
by the voice of the Prince from an interior apartment 
calling out, “ Noble Waldemar Fitzurse ! ” and, with bon¬ 
net doffed the future Chancellor, for to such high prefer¬ 
ment did the wily Norman aspire, hastened to receive the 
* orders of the future sovereign. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

Far in a wild, unknown to public view, 

From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; 

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, 

His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well; 

Remote from man, with God he pass’d his days, 

Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. 

Parnell. 

The reader cannot have forgotten that the event of the 
tournament was decided by the exertions of an unknown 
knight, whom, on account of the passive and indifferent 
conduct which he had manifested on the former part of 
the day, the spectators had entitled Le Noir Faineant. 
This knight had left the field abruptly when the victory 
was achieved; and when he was called upon to receive 
the reward of his valour he was nowhere to be found. 
In the meantime, while summoned by heralds and by 
trumpets, the knight was holding his course northward, 

M 


162 


IVANHOE. 


avoiding all frequented paths, and taking the shortest 
road through the woodlands. He paused for the night 
at a small hostelry lying out of the ordinary route, where, 
however, he obtained from a wandering minstrel news of 
the event of the tourney. 

On the next morning the knight departed early, with 
the intention of making a long journey; the condition of 
his horse, which he had carefully spared during the pre¬ 
ceding morning, being such as enabled him to travel far 
without the necessity of much repose. Yet his purpose 
was baffled by the devious paths through which he rode, 
so that when evening closed upon him he only found 
himself on the frontiers of the West Hiding of Yorkshire. 
By this time both horse and man required refreshment, 
and it became necessary, moreover, to look out for some 
place in which they might spend the night, which was 
now fast approaching. 

The place where the traveller found himself seemed 
unpropitious for obtaining either shelter or refreshment, * 
and he was likely to be reduced to the usual expedient 
of knights errant, who, on such occasions, turned theii 
horses to graze, and laid themselves down to meditate ou 
their lady-mistress, with an oak tree for a canopy. But 
the Black Knight either had no mistress to meditate 
upon, or, being as indifferent in love as he seemed to be 
in war, was not sufficiently occupied by passionate reflec¬ 
tions upon her beauty and cruelty to be able to parry 
the effects of fatigue and hunger, and suffer love to act 
as a substitute for the solid comforts of a bed and supper. 
He felt dissatisfied, therefore, when, looking around, he 
found himself deeply involved in woods, through which 
indeed there were many open glades and some paths, bul 
such as seemed only formed by the numerous herds of 
cattle which grazed in the forest, or by the animals of 
chase and the hunters who made prey of them. 

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed his 
course, had now sunk behind the Derbyshire hills on his 
left, and every effort which he might make to pursue 
his journey was as likely to lead him out of his road as 
to advance him on his route. After having in vain en- 



IVANHOE. 


163 


deavoured to select the most beaten path, in hopes 
it might lead to the cottage of some herdsman or the 
silvan lodge of a forester, and having repeatedly found 
himself totally unable to determine on a choice, the knight 
resolved to trust to the sagacity of his horse, experience 
having on former occasions made him acquainted with 
the wonderful talent possessed by these animals for 
extricating themselves and their riders on such emer¬ 
gencies. 

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long a 
day’s journey under a rider cased in mail, had no sooner 
found, by the slackened reins, that he was abandoned to 
his own guidance, than he seemed to assume new strength 
and spirit; and whereas formerly he had scarce replied 
to the spur otherwise than by a groan, he now, as if 
proud of the confidence reposed in him, pricked up his 
ears, and assumed, of his own accord, a more lively 
motion. The path which the animal adopted rather 
turned off from the course pursued by the knight during 
the day; but as the horse seemed confident in his choice, 
the rider abandoned himself to his discretion. 

He was justified by the event, for the footpath soon 
after appeared a little wider and more worn, and the 
tinkle of a small bell gave the knight to understand that 
he was in the vicinity of some chapel or hermitage. 

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, on 
the opposite side of which a rock, rising abruptly from a 
gently sloping plain, offered its grey and weatherbeaten 
front to the traveller. Ivy mantled its sides in some 
places, and in others oaks and holly bushes, whose roots 
found nourishment in the cliffs of the crag, waved over 
the precipices below, like the plumage of the warrior over 
his steel helmet, giving grace to that whose chief expres¬ 
sion was terror. At the bottom of the rock, and leaning, 
as it were, against it, was constructed a rude hut, built 
chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the neighbouring 
forest, and secured against the weather by having its 
crevices stuffed with moss mingled with clay. The stem 
of a young fir-tree lopped of its branches, with a piece 
of wood tied across near the top, was planted upright hy 


164 


IVANHOE. 


the door, as a rude emblem of the holy cross. At a little 
distance on the right hand, a fountain of the purest water 
trickled out of the rock, and was received in a hollow 
stone, which labour had formed into a rustic basin. Es¬ 
caping from thence, the stream murmured down the 
descent by a channel which its course had long worn, 
and so wandered through the little plain to lose itself in 
the neighbouring wood. 

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small 
chapel, of which the roof had partly fallen in. The 
building, when entire, had never been above sixteen feet 
long by twelve feet in breadth, and the roof, low in pro¬ 
portion, rested upon four concentric arches which sprung 
from the four corners of the building, each supported 
upon a short and heavy pillar. The ribs of two of these 
arches remained, though the roof had fallen down betwixt 
them ; over the others it remained entire. The entrance 
to this ancient place of devotion was under a very low 
round arch, ornamented by several courses of that zig-zag 
moulding, resembling sharks’ teeth, which appears so 
often in the more ancient Saxon architecture. A belfry 
rose above the porch on four small pillars, within which 
hung the green and weatherbeaten bell, the feeble sounds 
of which had been some time before heard by the Black 
Knight. 

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering in 
twilight before the eyes of the traveller, giving him good 
assurance of lodging for the night: since it was a special 
duty of those hermits who dwelt in the woods to exercise 
hospitality towards benighted or bewildered passengers. 

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider 
minutely the particulars which we have detailed, but 
thanking St. Julian, the patron of travellers, who had 
sent him good harbourage, he leaped from his horse 
and assailed the door of the hermitage with the butt of 
his lance, in order to arouse attention and gain admittance. 

It was some time before he obtained any answer, and 
the reply, when made, was unpropitious. 

“ Pass on, whosoever thou art,” was the answer given 
by a deep hoarse voice from within the hut, “ and disturb 



IVANHOE. 


165 


not the servant of God and St. Dunstan in his evening 
devotions.” 

“ Worthy father,” answered the knight, “here is a poor 
wanderer bewildered in these woods, who gives thee the 
opportunity of exercising thy charity and hospitality.” 

“ Good brother,” replied the inhabitant of the hermi¬ 
tage, “ it has pleased Our Lady and St. Dunstan to destine 
me for the object of those virtues, instead of the exercise 
thereof. I have no provisions here which even a dog 
would share with me, and a horse of any tenderness of 
nurture would despise my couch; pass therefore on thy 
way, and God speed thee.” 

“ But how,” replied the knight, “ is it possible for me 
to find my way through such a wood as this, when dark¬ 
ness is coming on ? I pray you, reverend father, as you 
are a Christian, to undo your door, and at least point out 
to me my road.” 

“ And I pray you, good Christian brother,” replied the 
anchorite, “to disturb me no more. You have already 
interrupted one jpater, two aves, and a credo, which I, 
miserable sinner that I am, should, according to my vow, 
have said before moonrise.” 

“ The road — the road ! ” vociferated the knight; “ give 
me directions for the road, if I am to expect no more 
from thee.” 

“ The roadj” replied the hermit, “ is easy to hit. The 
path from the wood leads to a morass, and from thence 
to a ford, which, as the rains have abated, may now be 
passable. When thou hast crossed the ford, thou wilt 
take care of thy footing up the left bank, as it is some¬ 
what precipitous, and the path, which hangs over the 
river, has lately, as I learn—for I seldom leave the 
duties of my chapel— given way in sundry places. Thou 
wilt then keep straight forward-” 

“ A broken path — a precipice — a ford — and a mo¬ 
rass ! ” said the knight, interrupting him. “ Sir Hermit, 
if you were the holiest that ever wore beard or told bead, 
you shall scarce prevail on me to hold this road to-night. 
I tell thee, that thou, who livest by the charity of the 
country — ill-deserved as I doubt it is — hast no right to 


166 


IVANHOE. 


refuse shelter to the wayfarer when in distress. Either 
open the door quickly, or, by the rood, I will beat it 
down and make entry for myself.” 

“Friend wayfarer,” replied the hermit, “be not im¬ 
portunate ; if thou puttest me to use the carnal weapon 
in mine own defence, it will be e’en the worse for you.'” 

At this moment a distant noise of barking and growl¬ 
ing, which the traveller had for some time heard, became 
extremely loud and furious, and made the knight suppose 
that the hermit, alarmed by his threat of making forcible 
entry, had called the dogs, who made this clamour to aid 
him. in his defence, out of some inner recess in which 
they had been kennelled. Incensed at this preparation on 
the hermit’s part for making good his inhospitable pur¬ 
pose, the knight struck the door so furiously with his 
foot that posts as well as staples shook with violence. 

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door to a 
similar shock, now called out aloud: “ Patience, patience 
— spare thy strength, good traveller, and I will presently 
undo the door, though, it may be, my doing so will be 
little to thy pleasure.” 

The door accordingly was opened; and the’ hermit, a 
large, strong-built man, in his sackcloth gown and hood, 
girt with a rope of rushes, stood before the knight. He 
had in one hand a lighted torch, or link, and in the other 
a baton of. crab tree, so thick and heavy that it might 
well be termed a club. Two large shaggy dogs, half 
greyhound, half mastiff, stood ready to rush upon the 
traveller as soon as the door should be opened. But 
when the torch glanced upon the lofty crest and golden 
spurs of the knight who stood without, the hermit, alter¬ 
ing probably his original intentions, repressed the rage 
of his auxiliaries, and, changing his tone to a sort of 
churlish courtesy, invited the knight to enter his hut, 
making excuse for his unwillingness to open his lodge 
after sunset by alleging the multitude of robbers and 
outlaws who were abroad, and who gave no honour to 
Our Lady or St. Dunstan, nor to those holy men who 
spent life in their service. 

“The poverty of your cell, good father,” said the 



IVANHOE. 


167 


knight, looking around him, and seeing nothing but a 
bed of leaves, a crucifix rudely carved in oak, a missal, 
with a rough-hewn table and two stools, and one or two 
clumsy articles of furniture — “ the poverty of your cell 
should seem a sufficient defence against any risk of 
thieves, not to mention the aid of two trusty dogs, large 
and strong enough, I think, to pull down a stag, and, of 
course, to match with most men.” 

“ The good keeper of the forest,” said the hermit, 
“hath allowed me the use of these animals to protect 
my solitude until the times shall mend.” 

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted 
branch of iron which served for a candlestick; and plac¬ 
ing the oaken trivet before the embers of the fire, which 
he refreshed with some dry wood, he placed a stool upon 
one side of the table, and beckoned to the knight to do 
the same upon the other. 

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at each 
other, each thinking in his heart that he had seldom 
seen a stronger or more athletic figure than was placed 
opposite to him. 

“ Reverend hermit,” said the knight, after looking 
long and fixedly at his host, “ were it not to interrupt 
your devout meditations, I would pray to know three 
things of your holiness; first, where I am to put my 
horse ? — secondly, what I can have for supper ? — 
thirdly, where I am to take up my couch for the 
night ? ” 

“I will reply to you,” said the hermit, “with my 
finger, it being against my rule to speak by words where 
signs can answer the purpose.” So saying, he pointed 
successively to two corners of the hut. “ Your stable,” 
said he, «is there; your bed there; and,” reaching down 
a platter with two handfuls'of parched pease upon it 
from the neighbouring shelf, and placing it upon the 
table, he added, “ your supper is here.” 

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the 
hut, brought in his horse, which in the interim he had 
fastened to a tree, unsaddled him with much attention, 
and spread upon the steed’s weary back his own mantle. 


168 


IVANHOE. 


The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to com¬ 
passion by the anxiety as well as address which the 
stranger displayed in tending his horse; for, muttering 
something about provender left for the keeper’s palfrey, 
he dragged out of a recess a bundle of forage, which he 
spread before the knight’s charger, and immediately 
afterwards shook down a quantity of dried fern in the 
corner which he had assigned for the rider’s couch. The 
knight returned him thanks for his courtesy; and, this 
duty done, both resumed their seats by the table, whereon 
stood the trencher of pease placed between them. The 
hermit, after a long grace, which had once been Latin, 
but of which original language few traces remained, 
excepting here and there the long rolling termination of 
some word or phrase, set example to his guest by mod¬ 
estly putting into a very large mouth, furnished with 
teeth which might have ranked with those of a boar both 
in sharpness and whiteness, some three or four dried 
pease, a miserable grist, as it seemed, for so large and 
able a mill. 

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example, 
laid aside his helmet, his corselet, and the greater part 
of his armour, and showed to the hermit a head thick- 
curled with yellow hair, high features, blue eyes, re¬ 
markably bright and sparkling, a mouth well-formed, 
having an upper lip clothed with mustachioes darker 
than his hair, and bearing altogether the look of a bold, 
daring, and enterprising man, with which his strong 
form well corresponded. 

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence 
of his guest, threw back his cowl, and showed a round 
bullet-head belonging to a man in the prime of life. His 
close-shaven crown, surrounded by a circle of stiff curled 
black hair, had something the appearance of a parish 
pinfold begirt by its high hedge. The features expressed 
nothing of monastic austerity or of ascetic privations ; 
on the contrary, it was a bold bluff countenance, with 
broad black eyebrows, a well-turned forehead, and cheeks 
as round and vermilion as those of a trumpeter, from 
which descended a long and curly black beard. Such a 


IVAN HOE. 


169 


risage, joined to the brawny form of the holy man, spoke 
rather of sirloins and haunches than of pease and pulse. 
This incongruity did not escape the guest. After he 
had with great difficulty accomplished the mastication of 
a mouthful of the dried pease, he found it absolutely neces¬ 
sary to request his pious entertainer to furnish him with 
some liquor; who replied to his request by placing before 
him a large can of the purest water from the fountain. 

“ It is from the well of St. Dunstan,” said he, “ in 
which, betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hundred 
heathen Danes and Britons — blessed be his name ! ” 
And applying his black beard to the pitcher, he took a 
draught much more moderate in quantity than his en¬ 
comium seemed to warrant. 

“ It seems to me, reverend father,” said the knight, 
“ that the small morsels which you eat, together with 
this holy but somewhat thin beverage, have thriven with 
you marvellously. You appear a man more fit to win the 
ram at a wrestling-match, or the ring at a bout at quarter- 
staff, or the bucklers at a sword-play, than to linger out 
your time in this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and 
living upon parched pease and cold water.” 

“Sir Knight,” answered the hermit, “your thoughts, 
like those of the ignorant laity, are according to the 
flesh. It has pleased Our Lady and my patron saint to 
bless the pittance to which I restrain myself, even as 
the pulse and water was blessed to the children Shad- 
rach, 'Meshech, and Abednego, who drank the same 
rather than defile themselves with the wine and meats 
which were appointed them by the King of the Saracens.” 

“ Holy father,” said the knight, “ upon whose counte¬ 
nance it hath pleased Heaven to work such a miracle, 
permit a sinful layman to crave thy name ? ” 

“Thou mayst call me,” answered the hermit, “the 
Clerk of Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in these parts. 
.— They add, it is true, the epithet holy, but I stand not 
upon that, as being unworthy of such addition. — And 
now, valiant knight, may I pray ye for the name of my 
honourable guest ? ” 

“ Truly,” said the knight, “ Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, 


170 


IVANHOE. 


men call me in these parts the Black Knight, — many, 
sir, add to it the epithet of Sluggard, whereby I am no 
way ambitious to be distinguished.” 

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his 
guest’s reply. 

“ I see,” said he, “ Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou art 
a man of prudence and of counsel; and, moreover, I see 
that my poor monastic fare likes thee not, accustomed, 
perhaps, as thou hast been to the license of courts and of 
camps, and the luxuries of cities; and now I bethink me, 
Sir Sluggard, that when the charitable keeper of this 
forest-walk left these dogs for my protection, and also 
those bundles of forage, he left me also some food, which, 
being unfit for my use, the very recollection of it had 
escaped me amid my more weighty meditations.” 

“ I dare be sworn he did so,” said the knight; “ I was 
convinced that there was better food in the cell, Holy 
Clerk, since you first doffed your cowl. — Your keeper is 
ever a jovial fellow; and none who beheld thy grinders 
contending with these pease, and thy throat flooded with 
this ungenial element, could see thee doomed to such 
horse-provender and horse-beverage (pointing to the pro¬ 
visions upon the table), and refrain from mending thy 
cheer. Let us see the keeper’s bounty, therefore, with¬ 
out delay.” 

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in 
which there was a sort of comic expression of hesitation, 
as if uncertain how far he should act prudently in trust¬ 
ing his guest. There was, however, as much of bold 
frankness in the knight’s countenance as was possible to 
be expressed by features. His smile, too, had something 
in it irresistibly comic, and gave an assurance of faith 
and loyalty, with which his host could not refrain from 
sympathising. 

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit 
went to the further side of the hut, and opened a hutch, 
which was concealed with great care and some ingenuity. 
Out of the recesses of a dark closet, into which this 
aperture gave admittance, he brought a large pasty, 
baked in a pewter platter of unusual dimensions. This 


1VANH0E. 


171 


mighty dish he placed before his guest, who, using his 
poniard to cut it open, lost no time in making himself 
acquainted with its contents. 

“ How long is it since the good keeper has been here ? ” 
said the knight to his host, after having swallowed 
several hasty morsels of this reinforcement to the her¬ 
mit’s good cheer. 

“ About two months,” answered the father, hastily. 

“ By the true Lord,” answered the knight, “ everything 
in your hermitage is miraculous, Holy Clerk ! for I would 
have been sworn that the fat buck which furnished this 
venison had been running on foot within the week.” 

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this 
observation; and, moreover, he made but a poor figure 
while gazing on the diminution of the pasty on which his 
guest was making desperate inroads — a warfare in which 
his previous profession of abstinence left him no pretext 
for joining. 

“ I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,” said the knight, 
stopping short of a sudden, “and I bethink me it is a 
custom there that every host who entertains a guest shall 
assure him of the wholesomeness of his food by partak¬ 
ing of it along with him. Par be it from me to suspect 
so holy a man of aught inhospitable ; nevertheless, I will 
be highly bound to you would you comply with this 
Eastern custom.” 

“ To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight, I will 
for once depart from my rule,” replied the hermit. And 
as there were no forks in those days, his clutches were 
instantly in the bowels of the pasty. 

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed 
matter of rivalry between the guest and the entertainer 
which should display the best appetite; and although the 
former had probably fasted longest, yet the hermit fairly 
surpassed him. 

“ Holy Clerk,” said the knight, when his hunger was 
appeased, “ I would gage my good horse yonder against 
a zecchin, that that same honest keeper to whom we are 
obliged for the venison has left thee a stoup of wine, or 
a runlet of canary, or some such trifle, by way of ally to 


172 


IVANHOE. 


this noble pasty. This would be a circumstance, doubt* 
less, totally unworthy to dwell in the memory of so rigid 
an anchorite; yet, I think, were you to search yonder 
crypt once more, you would find that I am right in my 
conjecture.” 

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning to 
the hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, which might 
contain about four quarts. He also brought forth two 
large drinking cups, made out of the horn of the urus, 
and hooped with silver. Having made this goodly pro¬ 
vision for washing down the supper, he seemed to think 
no farther ceremonious scruple necessary on his part; 
but filling both cups, and saying, in the Saxon fashion, 
“ Waes hael, Sir Sluggish Knight! ” he emptied his own 
at a draught. 

“ Drinc hael, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst! ” answered 
the warrior, and did his host reason in a similar brimmer. 

“Holy Clerk,” said the stranger, after the first cup 
was thus swallowed, “ I cannot but marvel that a man 
possessed of such thews and sinews as thine, and who 
therewithal shows the talent of so goodly a trencherman, 
should think of abiding by himself in this wilderness. 
In my judgment, you are fitter to keep a castle or a fort, 
eating of the fat and drinking of the strong, than to live 
here upon pulse and water, or even upon the charity of 
the keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should find my¬ 
self both disport and plenty out of the king’s deer. 
There is many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck 
will never be missed that goes to the use of St. Dunstan’s 
chaplain.” 

“ Sir Sluggish Knight,” replied the Clerk, “ these are 
dangerous words, and I pray you to forbear them. I am 
true hermit to the king and law, and were I to spoil my 
liege’s game, I should be sure of the prison, and, an my 
gown saved me not, were in some peril of hanging.” 

“Nevertheless, were I as thou,” said the knight, “I 
would take my walk by moonlight, when foresters and 
keepers were warm in bed, and ever and anon — as I 
pattered my prayers — I would let fly a shaft among 
the herds of dun deer that feed in the glades. — Re* 


IVANHOE. 


173 


solve me, Holy Cl^rk, hast thou never practised such a 
pastime ? ” 

“ Friend Sluggard,” answered the hermit, “thou hast 
seen all that can concern thee of my housekeeping, and 
something more than he deserves who takes up his 
quarters by violence. Credit me, it is better to enjoy 
the good which God sends thee, than to be impertinently 
curious how it comes. Fill thy cup, and welcome; and 
do not, I pray thee, by further impertinent inquiries, put 
me to show that thou couldst hardly have made good thy 
lodging had I been earnest to oppose thee.” 

“By my faith,” said the knight, “thou makest me 
more curious than ever ! Thou art the most mysterious 
hermit I ever met; and I will know more of thee ere we 
part. As for thy threats, know, holy man, thou speakest 
to one whose trade it is to find out danger wherever it is 
to be met with.” 

“ Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,” said the her¬ 
mit, “ respecting thy valour much, but deeming wondrous 
slightly of thy discretion. If thou wilt take equal arms 
with me, I will give thee, in all friendship and brotherly 
love, such sufficing penance and complete absolution that 
thou shalt not for the next twelve months sin the sin of 
excess of curiosity.” 

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his 
weapons. 

“ There is none,” replied the hermit, “ from the scissors 
of Delilah and the tenpenny nail of Jael, to the scimitar 
of Goliath, at which I am not a match for thee. But, if 
I am to make the election, what sayst thou, good friend, 
to these trinkets ? ” 

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took out 
from it a couple of broadswords and bucklers, such as 
were used by the yeomanry of the period. The knight, 
who watched his motions, observed that this second place 
of concealment was furnished with two or three good long¬ 
bows, a cross-bow, a bundle of bolts for the latter, and 
half a dozen sheaves of arrows for the former. A harp, 
and other matters of a very uncanonical appearance, were 
also visible when this dark recess was opened. 


174 


IVANHOE. 


“ I promise thee, brother Clerk,” said he, “ I will ask 
thee no more offensive questions. The contents of that 
cupboard are an answer to all my inquiries; and I see a 
weapon there (here he stooped and took out the harp) on 
which I would more gladly prove my skill with thee than 
at the sword and buckler.” 

“I hope, Sir Knight,” said the hermit, “thou hast 
given no good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard. 
I do promise thee, I suspect thee grievously. Neverthe¬ 
less, thou art my guest, and I will not put thy manhood 
to the proof without thine own free will. Sit thee down, 
then, and fill thy cup; let us drink, sing, and be merry. 
If thou knowest ever a good lay, thou shalt be welcome 
to a nook of pasty at Copmanhurst so long as I serve the 
chapel of St. Dunstan, which, please God, shall be till I 
change my grey covering for one of green turf. But come, 
fill a flagon, for it will crave some time to tune the harp; 
and nought pitches the voice and sharpens the ear like a 
cup of wine. For my part, I love to feel the grape at my 
very finger-ends before they make the harp-strings tinkle.” 

CHAPTER XVII 

At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book, 

Portrayed with many a holy deed 
Of martyrs crown’d with heavenly meed; 

Then, as my taper waxes dim, 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn. 

Who but would cast his pomp away, 

To take my staff and amice grey, 

And to the world’s tumultuous stage, 

Prefer the peaceful Hermitage ? Warton. 

Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial her¬ 
mit, with which his guest willingly complied, he found 
it no easy matter to bring the harp to harmony. 

“Methinks, holy father,” said he, “the instrument wants 
one string, and the rest have been somewhat misused.” 

“Ay, mark’st thou that?” replied the hermit; “that 


IVANHOE. 


175 


shows thee a master of the craft. Wine and wassail,” 
he added, gravely casting up his eyes — “ all the fault of 
wine and wassail! I told Allan-a-Dale, the northern 
minstrel, that he would damage the harp if he touched 
it after the seventh cup, but he would not be controlled. 
Friend, I drink to thy successful performance.” 

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at 
the same time shaking his head at the intemperance of 
the Scottish harper. 

The knight, in the meantime, had brought the strings 
into some order, and, after a short prelude, asked his host 
whether he would choose a sirvente in the language of oc, 
or a lai in the language of out, or a virelai, or a ballad in 
the vulgar English. 

“A ballad — a ballad,” said the hermit, “against all 
the ocs and ouis of France. Downright English am I, Sir 
Knight, and downright English was my patron St. I)un- 
stan, and scorned oc and oui, as he would have scorned 
the parings of the devil’s hoof; downright English alone 
shall be sung in this cell.” 

“ I will assay, then,” said the knight, “ a ballad com¬ 
posed by a Saxon gleeman, whom I knew in Holy Land.” 

It speedily appeared that, if the knight was not a com¬ 
plete master of the minstrel art, his taste for it had at 
least been cultivated under the best instructors. Art had 
taught him to soften the faults of a voice which had little 
compass, and was naturally rough rather than mellow, and, 
in short, had done all that culture can do in supplying 
natural deficiencies. His performance, therefore, might 
have been termed very respectable by abler judges than 
the hermit, especially as the knight threw into the notes 
now a degree of spirit, and now of plaintive enthusiasm, 
which gave force and energy to the verses which he sung. 


The Crusader’s Keturn. 

High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 
From Palestine the champion came ; 
The cross upon his shoulders borne 
Battle and blast had dimm’d and torn. 


176 


I VAN HOE. 


Each dint upon his batter’d shield 
Was token of a foughten field ; 

And thus, beneath his lady’s bower, 

He sung, as fell the twilight hour: 

“ Joy to the fair! — thy knight behold, 
Return’d from yonder land of gold. 

No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need 
Save his good arms and battle-steed, 

His spurs, to dash against a foe, 

His lance and sword to lay him low ; 

Such all the trophies of his toil, 

Such — and the hope of Tekla’s smile ! 

“ Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight 
Her favour fired to feats of might; 

Unnoted shall she not remain, 

Where meet the bright and noble train 
Minstrel shall sing and herald tell: 

‘ Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 

’Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field at Askalon ! 

“ ‘ Note well her smile ! it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made, 

When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell 
Iconium’s turban’d soldan fell. 

Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow ? 
Twines not of them one golden thread, 

But for its sake a Paynim bled.’ 

“ Joy to the fair ! my name unknown, 

Each deed and all its praise thine own ; 

Then, oh ! unbar this churlish gate, 

The night dew falls, the hour is late. 

Inured to Syria’s glowing breath, 

I feel the north breeze chill as death ; 

Let grateful love quell maiden shame, 

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.” 


During this performance the hermit demeaned himself 
much like a first-rate critic of the present day at a new 
opera. He reclined back upon his seat with his eyes half 
shut; now folding his hands and twisting his thumbs, he 
seemed absorbed in attention, and anon, balancing his 







yf/Iji 


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IVANHOE . 


17? 


expanded palms, lie gently flourished them in time to the 
music. At one or two favourite cadences he threw in a 
little assistance of his own, where the knight’s voice 
seemed unable to carry the air so high as his worshipful 
taste approved. When the song was ended, the ancho¬ 
rite emphatically declared it a good one, and well sung. 

“ And yet,” said he, “I think my Saxon countrymen 
had herded long enough with the Normans to fall into 
the tone of their melancholy ditties. What took the 
honest knight from home ? or what could he expect but 
to find his mistress agreeably engaged with a rival on his 
return, and his serenade, as they call it, as little regarded 
as the caterwauling of a cat in the gutter ? Nevertheless, 
Sir Knight, I drink this cup to thee, to the success of all 
true lovers. — I fear you are none,” .he added, on observ¬ 
ing that the knight, whose brain began to be heated with 
these repeated draughts, qualified his flagon from the 
water pitcher. 

“Why,” said the knight, “did you not tell me that this 
water was from the well of your blessed patron, St. Dun- 
stan ? ” 

“ Ay, truly,” said the hermit, “ and many a hundred 
of pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that he 
drank any of it. Everything should be put to its proper 
use in this world. St. Dunstan knew, as well as any one, 
the prerogatives of a jovial friar.” 

And so saying, he reached the harp and entertained 
his guest with the following characteristic song, to a sort 
of derry-down chorus, appropriate to an old English 
ditty: 


The Barefooted Eriar. 

I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 

To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain; 

But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 

So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, 

And is brought home at evensong prick’t through with a spear, 
I confess him in haste — for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Eriar’s, 


178 


IVANHOE. 


Your monarch ! Pshaw ! many a prince has been known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown ; 

But which of us e’er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar l 

The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has gone, 

The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own ; 

He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires, 
For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s. 

He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes 
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums 
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the lire. 

Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 

He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot, 

They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot, 
And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire 
Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 

Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, 

The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope; 

For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar, 

Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 


“ By my troth,” said the knight, “thou hast sung well, 
and lustily, and in high praise of thine order. And 
talking of the devil, Holy Clerk, are you not afraid that 
he may pay you a visit during some of your uncanonical 
pastimes ? ” 

“ I uncanonical! ” answered the hermit; “I scorn the 
charge — I scorn it with my heels ! I serve the duty of 
my chapel duly and truly. Two masses daily, morning 
and evening, primes, noons, and vespers, aves, credos , 
paters -” 

“ Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is in 
season,” said his guest. 

“ Exceptis excipiendis,” replied the hermit, “ as our old 
abbot taught me to say, whep impertinent laymen should 
ask me if I kept every punctilio of mine order.” 

“ True, holy father,” said the knight; “ but the devil 
is apt to keep an eye on such exceptions; he goes about, 
thou knowest, like a roaring lion.” 



IVANHOE. 


179 


“Let him roar here if he dares,” said the Friar; “a 
touch of my cord will make him roar as loud as the tongs 
of St. Dunstan himself did. I never feared man, and 1 
as little fear the devil and his imps. St. Dunstan, St. 
Dubric, St. Winibald, St. Winifred, St. Swibert, St. Wil- 
lick, not forgetting St. Thomas of Kent and my own poor 
merits to speed, — I defy every devil of them, come cut 
and long tail. — But to let you into a secret, I never 
speak upon such subjects, my friend, until after morn¬ 
ing vespers.” 

He changed the conversation; fast and furious grew 
the mirth of the parties, and many a song was exchanged 
betwixt them, when their revels were interrupted by a 
loud knocking at the door of the hermitage. 

The occasion of this interruption we can only explain 
by resuming the adventures of another set of our char¬ 
acters ; for, like old Ariosto, we do not pique ourselves 
upon continuing uniformly to keep company with any 
one personage of our drama. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Away ! our journey lies through dell and dingle, 

Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, 

Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, 

Chequers the sunbeam in the green-sward alley — 

Up and away ! for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne ; 

Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 

Ettrick Forest. 

When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down sense¬ 
less in the lists at Ashby, his first impulse was to order 
him into the custody and care of his own attendants; 
but the words choked in his throat. He could not bring 
himself to acknowledge, in presence of such an assembly, 
the son whom he had renounced and disinherited. He 
ordered, however, Oswald to keep an eye upon him ; and 
directed that officer, with two of his serfs, to convey 
Ivanhoe to Ashby as soon as the crowd had dispersed 


180 


IVANHOE. 


Oswald, however, was anticipated in this good office. 
The crowd dispersed, indeed, but the knight was nowhere 
to be seen. 

It was in vain that Cedric’s cupbearer looked around 
for his young master — he saw the bloody spot on which 
he had lately sunk down, but himself he saw no longer; 
it seemed as if the fairies had conveyed him from the 
spot. Perhaps Oswald — for the Saxons were very super¬ 
stitious — might have adopted some such hypothesis to 
account for Ivanhoe’s disappearance, had he not suddenly 
cast his eye upon a person attired like a squire, in whom 
he recognised the features of his fellow-servant Gurth. 
Anxious concerning his master’s fate, and in despair at 
his sudden disappearance, the translated swineherd was 
searching for him everywhere, and had neglected, in 
doing so, the concealment on which his own safety de¬ 
pended. Oswald deemed it his duty to secure Gurth, as 
a fugitive of whose fate his master was to judge. 

Renewing his inquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, 
the only information which the cupbearer could collect 
from the bystanders was, that the knight had been 
raised with care by certain well-attired grooms, and 
placed in a litter belonging to a lady among the specta¬ 
tors, which had immediately transported him out of the 
press. Oswald, on receiving this intelligence, resolved 
to return to his master for farther instructions, carrying 
along with him Gurth, whom he considered in some sort 
as a deserter from the service of Cedric. 

The Saxon had been under very intense and agonising 
apprehensions concerning his son, for nature had asserted 
her rights, in spite of the patriotic stoicism which laboured 
to disown her. But no sooner was he informed that Ivan¬ 
hoe was in careful, and probably friendly, hands than the 
paternal anxiety, which had been excited by the dubiety 
of his fate, gave way anew to the feeling of injured pride 
and resentment at what he termed Wilfred’s filial dis¬ 
obedience. “Let him wander his way,” said he; “let 
those leech his wounds for whose sake he encountered 
them. He is fitter to do the juggling tricks of the Nor¬ 
man chivalry than to maintain the fame and honour of 


IVAX HOE. 181 

his English ancestry with the glaive and brown-bill, the 
good old weapons of his country.” 

“ If to maintain the honour of ancestry,” said Rowena, 
who was present, “ it is sufficient to be wise in council 
and brave in execution, to be boldest among the bold, 
and gentlest among the gentle, I know no voice, save 
his father’s-” 

“ Be silent, Lady Rowena! on this subject only I hear 
you not. Prepare yourself for the Prince’s festival; we 
have been summoned thither with unwonted circumstance 
of honour and of courtesy, such as the haughty Normans 
have rarely used to our race since the fatal day of Hast¬ 
ings. Thither will I go, were it only to show these proud 
Normans how little the fate of a son who could defeat 
their bravest can affect a Saxon.” 

“ Thither,” said Rowena, “ do I not go; and I pray you 
to beware, lest what you mean for courage and constancy 
shall be accounted hardness of heart.” 

“ Remain at home then, ungrateful lady,” answered 
Cedric; “ thine is the hard heart, which can sacrifice the 
weal of an oppressed people to an idle and unauthorised 
attachment. I seek the noble Athelstane, and with him 
attend the banquet of John of Anjou.” 

He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we have 
already mentioned the principal events. Immediately 
upon retiring from the castle, the Saxon thanes, with 
their attendants, took horse; and it was during the bus¬ 
tle which attended their doing so that Cedric for the 
first time cast his eyes upon the deserter Gurth. The 
noble Saxon had returned from the banquet, as we have 
seen, in no very placid humour, and wanted but a pretext 
for wreaking his anger upon some one. “ The gyves ! ” 
he said — “ the gyves ! Oswald — Hundebert! Dogs 
and villains ! why leave ye the knave unfettered ? ” 

Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of 
Gurth bound him with a halter, as the readiest cord 
which occurred. He submitted to the operation without 
remonstrance, except that, darting a reproachful look at 
his master, he said, “ This comes of loving your flesh and 
blood better than mine own.” 



182 


IVANHOE. 


“ To horse, and forward! ” said Cedric. 

“It is indeed full time,” said the noble Athelstane; 
“for, if we ride not the faster, the worthy Abbot Wal- 
theoff’s preparations for a rere-supper will be altogether 
spoiled.” 

The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach 
the convent of St. Withold’s before the apprehended evil 
took place. The Abbot, himself of ancient Saxon descent, 
received the noble Saxons with the profuse and exuber¬ 
ant hospitality of their nation, wherein they indulged to 
a late, or rather an early, hour; nor did they take leave 
of their reverend host the next morning until they had 
shared with him a sumptuous refection. 

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an 
incident happened somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, 
of all people of Europe, ever most addicted to a super¬ 
stitious observance of omens, and to whose opinions can 
be traced most of those notions upon such subjects, still 
to be found among our popular antiquities. For the 
Normans being a mixed race and better informed, accord¬ 
ing to the information of the times, had lost most of the 
superstitious prejudices which their ancestors had brought 
from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves upon thinking 
freely on such topics. 

In the present instance, the apprehension of impend¬ 
ing evil was inspired by no less respectable a prophet 
than a large lean black dog, which, sitting upright, 
howled most piteously as the foremost riders left the 
gate, and presently afterwards, barking wildly, and jump¬ 
ing to and fro, seemed bent upon attaching itself to the 
party. . 

“I like not that music, father Cedric,” said Athel- 
stane; for by this title of respect he was accustomed to 
address him. 

“Nor I either, uncle,” said Wamba; “I greatly fear 
we shall have to pay the piper.” 

“ In my mind,” said Athelstane, upon whose memory 
the Abbot’s good ale (for Burton was already famous for 
that genial liquor) had made a favourable impression — 
“ in my mind we had better turn back and abide with 


JVANHOE. 


183 


the Abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel 
where your path is crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howl¬ 
ing dog, until you have eaten your next meal.” 

“Away!” said Cedric, impatiently; “the day is al¬ 
ready too short for our journey. For the dog, I know it 
to be the cur of the runaway slave Gurth, a useless fugi¬ 
tive like its master.” 

So saying, and rising at the same time in his stirrups, 
impatient at the interruption of his journey, he launched 
his javelin at poor Fangs; for Fangs it was, who, having 
traced his master thus far upon his stolen expedition, 
had here lost him, and was now, in his uncouth way, 
rejoicing at his reappearance. The javelin inflicted a 
wound upon the animal’s shoulder, and narrowly missed 
pinning him to the earth; and Fangs fled howling from 
the presence of the enraged thane. Gurth’s heart swelled 
within him; for he felt this meditated slaughter of his 
faithful adherent in a degree much deeper than the harsh 
treatment he had himself received. Having in vain at¬ 
tempted to raise his hand to his eye, he said to Wamba, 
who, seeing his master’s ill-humour, had prudently re¬ 
treated to the rear, “ I pray thee, do me the kindness to 
wipe my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust 
offends me, and these bonds will not let me help myself 
one way or another.” 

Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode 
side by side for some time, during which Gurth. main¬ 
tained a moody silence. At length he could repress his 
feelings no longer. 

“ Friend Wamba,” said he, “ of all those who are fools 
enough to serve Cedric, thou alone hast dexterity enough 
to make thy folly acceptable to him. Go to him, there¬ 
fore, and tell him that neither for love nor fear will 
Gurth serve him longer. He may strike the head from 
me—he may scourge me — he may load me with irons 
— but henceforth he shall never compel me either to love 
or to obey him. Go to him, then, and tell him that 
Gurth, the son of Beowulph, renounces his service.” 

“Assuredly,” said Wamba, “fool as I am, I shall not 
do your fool’s errand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck 


184 


IVANHOE. 


into his girdle, and thou knowest he does not always miss 
his mark.” 

“ I care not,” replied Gurth, “ how soon he makes 
a mark of me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my young 
master, in his blood. To-day he has striven to kill before 
my face the only other living creature that ever showed 
me kindness. By St. Edmund, St. Dunstan, St. Withold, 
St. Edward the Confessor, and every other Saxon saint 
in the calendar ” (for Cedric never swore by any that was 
not of Saxon lineage, and all his household had the same 
limited devotion), “ I will never forgive him! ” 

“To my thinking now,” said the Jester, who was fre¬ 
quently wont to act as peacemaker in the family, “our 
master did not propose to hurt Fangs, but only to affright 
him. For, if you observed, he rose in his stirrups, as 
thereby meaning to overcast the mark; and so he would 
have done, but Fangs happening to bound up at the very 
moment, received a scratch, which I will be bound to 
heal with a penny’s breadth of tar.” 

“ If I thought so,” said Gurth —- “ if I could but think 
so; but no — I saw the javelin was well aimed — I heard 
it whizz through the air with all the wrathful malevo¬ 
lence of him who cast it, and it quivered after it had 
pitched in the ground, as if with regret for having missed 
its mark. By the hog dear to St. Anthony, I renounce 
him! ” 

And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen si¬ 
lence, which no efforts of the Jester could again induce 
him to break. 

Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the 
troop, conversed together on the state of the land, on the 
dissensions of the royal family, on the feuds and quarrels 
among the Norman nobles, and on the chance which 
there was that the oppressed Saxons might be able to 
free themselves from the yoke of the Normans, or at 
least to elevate themselves into national consequence and 
independence, during the civil convulsions which were 
likely to ensue. On this subject Cedric was all anima¬ 
tion. The restoration of the independence of his race 
was the idol of his heart, to which he had willingly sac- 


I VAN HOE. 


185 


rificed domestic happiness and the interests of his own 
son. But, in order to achieve this great revolution in 
favour of the native English, it was necessary that they 
should be united among themselves, and act under an 
acknowledged head. The necessity of choosing their 
chief from the Saxon blood-royal was not only evident in 
itself, but had been made a solemn condition by those 
whom Cedric had entrusted with his secret plans and 
hopes. Athelstane had this quality at least; and 
though he had few mental accomplishments or talents to 
recommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly person, 
was no coward, had been accustomed to martial exercises, 
and seemed willing to defer to the advice of counsellors 
more wise than himself. Above all, he was known to be 
liberal and hospitable and believed to be good-natured. 
But whatever pretensions Athelstane had to be consid¬ 
ered as head of the Saxon confederacy, many of that 
nation were disposed to prefer to his the title of the Lady 
Rowena, who drew her descent from Alfred, and whose 
father having been a chief renowned for wisdom, courage, 
and generosity, his memory was highly honoured by his 
oppressed countrymen. 

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had 
he been so disposed, to have placed himself at the head 
of a third party, as formidable at least as any of the 
others. To counterbalance their royal descent, he had 
courage, activity, energy, and, above all, that devoted 
attachment to the cause which had procured him the 
epithet of The Saxoh, and his birth was inferior to none ? 
excepting only that of Athelstane and his ward. These 
qualities, however, were unalloyed by the slightest shade 
of selfishness; and, instead of dividing yet further his 
weakened nation by forming a faction of his own, it was 
a leading part of Cedric’s plan to extinguish that which 
already existed by promoting a marriage betwixt Rowena 
and Athelstane. An obstacle occurred to this his favour¬ 
ite project in the mutual attachment of his ward and his 
son; and hence the original cause of the banishment of 
Wilfred from the house of his father. 

This stern measure Cedric had adopted in hopes that, 


186 


IVANHOE. 


during Wilfred’s absence, Rowena might relinquish her 
preference; but in this hope he was disappointed — a 
disappointment which might be attributed in part to the 
mode in which his ward had been educated. Cedric, to 
whom the name of Alfred was as that of a deity, had 
treated the sole remaining scion of that great monarch 
with a degree of observance such as, perhaps, was in 
those days scarce paid to an acknowledged princess. 
Rowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law to his 
household; and Cedric himself, as if determined that her 
sovereignty should be fully acknowledged within that 
little circle at least, seemed to take a pride in acting as 
the first of her subjects. Thus trained in the exercise 
not only of free will but despotic authority, Rowena was, 
by her previous education, disposed both to resist and to 
resent any attempt to control her affections, or dispose 
of her hand contrary to her inclinations, and to assert 
her independence in a case in which even those females 
who have been trained up to obedience and subjection 
are not infrequently apt to dispute the authority of guar¬ 
dians and parents. The opinions which she felt strongly, 
she avowed boldly ; and Cedric, who could not free him¬ 
self from his habitual deference to her opinions, felt 
totally at a loss how to enforce his authority of guardian. 

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with the 
prospect of a visionary throne. Rowena, who possessed 
strong sense, neither considered his plan as practicable 
nor as desirable, so far as she was concerned, could it 
have been achieved. Without attempting to conceal her 
avowed preference of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, she declared 
that, were that favoured knight out of question, she would 
rather take refuge in a convent than share a throne with 
Athelstane, whom, having always despised, she now be¬ 
gan, on account of the trouble she received on his account, 
thoroughly to detest. 

Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinion of women’s con¬ 
stancy was far from strong, persisted in using every 
means in his power to bring about the proposed match, 
in which he conceived he was rendering an important 
service to the Saxon cause. The sudden and romantic 


IVANHOE. 


187 ' 


appearance of his son in the lists at Ashby he had justly 
regarded as almost a death’s blow to his hopes. His 
paternal affection, it is true, had for an instant gained 
the victory over pride and patriotism; but both had re¬ 
turned in full force, and under their joint operation he 
was now bent upon making a determined effort for the 
union of Athelstane and Rowena, together with expedit¬ 
ing those other measures which seemed necessary to for¬ 
ward the restoration of Saxon independence. 

On this last subject he was now labouring with Athel¬ 
stane, not without having reason, every now and then, 
to lament, like Hotspur, that he should have moved 
such a dish of skimmed milk to so honourable an 
action. Athelstane, it is true, was vain enough, and 
loved to have his ears tickled with tales of his high de¬ 
scent, and of his right by inheritance to homage and 
sovereignty. But his petty vanity was sufficiently 
gratified by receiving this homage at the hands of his 
immediate attendants and of the Saxons who approached 
him. If he had the courage to encounter danger, he at 
least hated the trouble of going to seek it; and while he 
agreed in the general principles laid down by Cedric con¬ 
cerning the claim of the Saxons to independence, and was 
still more easily convinced of his own title to reign over 
them when that independence should be attained, yet 
when the means of asserting these rights came to be dis¬ 
cussed, he was still Athelstane the Unready — slow, ir¬ 
resolute, procrastinating, and unenterprising. The warm 
and impassioned exhortations of Cedric had as little 
effect upon his impassive temper as red-hot balls alight¬ 
ing in the water, which produce a little sound and smoke, 
and are instantly extinguished. * 

If, leaving this task, which might be compared to spur¬ 
ring a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold iron, Cedric 
fell back to his ward Rowena, he received little more satis¬ 
faction from conferring with her. For, as his presence 
interrupted the discourse between the lady and her fa¬ 
vourite attendant upon the gallantry and fate of Wilfred, 
Elgitha failed not to revenge both her mistress and her¬ 
self by recurring to the overthrow of Athelstane in the 


188 


1VANH0E. 


lists, the most disagreeable subject which could greet the 
ears of Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon, therefore, the day’s 
journey was fraught with all manner of displeasure and 
discomfort; so that he more than once internally cursed 
the tournament, and him who had proclaimed it, together 
with his own folly in ever thinking of going thither. 

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travellers 
paused in a woodland shade by a fountain, to repose their 
horses and partake of some provisions, with which the 
hospitable Abbot had loaded a sumpter mule. Their re¬ 
past was a pretty long one; and these several interrup¬ 
tions rendered it impossible for them to hope to reach 
Rotherwood without travelling all night, a conviction 
which induced them to proceed on their way at a more 
hasty pace than they had hitherto used. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A train of armed men, some noble dame 
Escorting (so their scattered words discover’d, 

As unperceived I hung upon their rear), 

Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night 
Within the castle. 

Orra , a Tragedy. 

The travellers had now reached the verge of the wooded 
country, and were about to plunge into its recesses, held 
dangerous at that time from the number of outlaws whom 
oppression and poverty had driven to despair, and who 
occupied the forest in such large bands as could easily 
bid defiance to the feeble police of the period. From 
these rovers, however, notwithstanding the lateness of 
the hour, Cedric and Athelstane accounted themselves 
secure, as they had in attendance ten servants, besides 
Wamba and G-urth, whose aid could not be counted upon, 
the one being a jester and the other a captive. It may 
be added, that in travelling thus late through the forest, 
Cedric and Athelstane relied on their descent and char¬ 
acter as well as their courage. The outlaws, whom the 
severity of the forest laws had reduced to this roving and 


IVANHOE. 


189 


desperate mode of life, were chiefly peasants and yeomen 
of Saxon descent, and were generally supposed to respect 
the persons and property of their countrymen. 

As the travellers journeyed on their way, they were 
alarmed by repeated cries for assistance ; and when they 
rode up to the place from whence they came, they were 
surprised to find a horse-litter placed upon the ground, 
beside which sat a young woman, richly dressed in the 
Jewish fashion, while an old man, whose yellow cap pro¬ 
claimed him to belong to the same nation, walked up 
and down with gestures expressive of the deepest despair, 
and wrung his hands as if affected by some strange 
disaster. 

To the inquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the old Jew 
could for some time only answer by invoking the protec¬ 
tion of all the patriarchs of the Old Testament succes¬ 
sively against the sons of Ishmael, who were coming to 
smite them, hip and thigh, with the edge of the sword. 
When he began to come to himself out of this agony of 
terror, Isaac of York (for it was our old friend) was at 
length able to explain that he had hired a body-guard of 
six men at Ashby, together with mules for carrying the 
litter of a sick friend. This party had undertaken to es¬ 
cort him as far as Doncaster. They had come thus far 
in safety; but, having received information from a wood¬ 
cutter that there was a strong band of outlaws lying in 
wait in the woods before them, Isaac’s mercenaries had 
not only taken flight, but had taken off with them the 
horses which bore the litter, and left the Jew and his 
daughter without the means either of defence or of re¬ 
treat, to be plundered, and probably murdered, by the 
banditti, whom they expected every moment would bring 
down upon them. “ Would it but please your valours,” 
added Isaac, in a tone of deep humiliation, “to permit 
the poor Jews to travel under your safeguard, I swear by 
the tables of our Law that never has favour been con¬ 
ferred upon a child of Israel since the days of our cap¬ 
tivity which shall be more gratefully acknowledged.” 

“Dog of a Jew!” said Athelstane, whose memory was 
of that petty kind which stores up trifles of all kinds, but 


190 


IVANHOE. 


particularly trifling offences, “dost not remember hov> 
thou didst beard us in the gallery at the tilt-yard ? Fight 
or flee, or compound with the outlaws as thou dost list, 
ask neither aid nor company from us; and if they rob 
only such as thee, who rob all the world, I, for mine own 
share, shall hold them right honest folk.” 

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of his com¬ 
panion. “We shall do better,” said he, “to leave them 
two of our attendants and two horses to convey them 
back to the next village. It will diminish our strength 
but little; and with your good sword, noble Athelstane, 
and the aid of those who remain, it will be light work for 
us to face twenty of those runagates.” 

Rowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of outlaws 
in force, and so near them, strongly seconded the proposal 
of her guardian. But Rebecca, suddenly quitting her 
dejected posture, and making her way through the at¬ 
tendants to the palfrey of the Saxon lady, knelt down, 
and, after the Oriental fashion in addressing superiors, 
kissed the hem of Rowena’s garment. Then, rising and 
throwing back her veil, she implored her in the great 
name of the God whom they both worshipped, and by 
that revelation of the Law upon Mount Sinai in which 
they both believed, that she would have compassion upon 
them, and suffer them to go forward under their safeguard. 
“ It is not for myself that I pray this favour,” said Re¬ 
becca ; “ nor is it even for that poor old man. I know 
that to wrong and to spoil our nation is a light fault, if 
not a merit, with the Christians; and what is it to us 
whether it be done in the city, in the desert, or in the 
field ? But it is in the name of one dear to many, and 
dear even to you, that I beseech you to let this sick per¬ 
son be transported with care and tenderness under your 
protection. For, if evil chance him, the last moment of 
your life would be embittered with regret for denying 
that which I ask of you.” 

The noble and solemn air with which Rebecca made 
this appeal gave it double weight with the fair Saxon. 

“ The man is old and feeble,” she said to her guardian, 
“ the maiden young and beautiful, their friend sick and 


1VANH0E. 


191 


in peril of his life; Jews though they be, we cannot as 
Christians leave them in this extremity. Let them un¬ 
load two of the sumpter mules and put the baggage behind 
two of the serfs. The mules may transport the litter, and 
we have led horses for the old man and his daughter.” 

Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and 
Athelstane only added the condition, “ That they should 
travel in the rear of the whole party, where Wamba,” he 
said, “ might attend them with his shield of boar’s brawn.” 

“ I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,” answered the 
Jester, “ as has been the fate of many a better knight 
than myself.” 

Athelstane coloured deeply, for such had been his own 
fate on the last day of the tournament; while Rowena, 
who was pleased in the same proportion, as if to make, 
amends for the brutal jest of her unfeeling suitor, re¬ 
quested Rebecca to ride by her side. 

“ It were not fit I should do so,” answered Rebecca, 
with proud humility, “ where my society might be held a 
disgrace to my protectress.” 

By this time the change of baggage was hastily achieved; 
for the single word “ outlaws ” rendered every one suffi¬ 
ciently alert, and the approach of twilight made the sound 
yet more impressive. Amid the bustle, Gurth was taken 
from horseback, in the course of which removal he pre¬ 
vailed upon the Jester to slack the cord with which his 
arms were bound. It was so negligently refastened, per¬ 
haps intentionally, on the part of Wamba, that Gurth 
found no difficulty in freeing his arms altogether from 
bondage, and then, gliding into the thicket, he made his 
escape from the party. 

The bustle had been considerable, and it was some time 
before Gurth was missed; for, as he was to be placed for 
the rest of the journey behind a servant, every one sup¬ 
posed that some other of his companions had him under 
his custody, and when it began to be whispered among 
them that Gurth had actually disappeared, they were 
under such immediate expectation of an attack from the 
outlaws that it was not held convenient to pay much at¬ 
tention to the circumstance. 


192 


IVANHOE. 


The path upon which the party travelled was now so 
narrow as not to admit, with any sort of convenience, 
above two riders abreast, and began to descend into a 
dingle, traversed by a brook whose banks were broken, 
swampy, and overgrown with dwarf willows. Cedric and 
Athelstane, who were at the head of their retinue, saw 
the risk of being attacked at this pass; but neither of 
them having had much practice in war, no better mode 
of preventing the danger occurred to them than that they 
should hasten through the defile as fast as possible. Ad¬ 
vancing, therefore, without much order, they had just 
crossed the brook with a part of their followers, when 
they were assailed in front, flank, and re:.r at once, with 
an impetuosity to which, in their confused and ill-pre¬ 
pared condition, it was impossible to offer effectual re¬ 
sistance. The shout of “ A white dragon! — a white 
dragon ! — St. George for merry England ! ” war-cries 
adopted by the assailants, as belonging to their assumed 
character of Saxon outlaws, was heard on every side, 
and on every side enemies appeared with a rapidity 
of advance and attack which seemed to multiply their 
numbers. 

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same 
moment, and each under circumstances expressive of his 
character. Cedric, the instant that an enemy appeared, 
launched at him his remaining javelin, which, taking bet¬ 
ter effect than that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed 
the man against an oak tree that happened to be close be¬ 
hind him. Thus far successful, Cedric spurred his horse 
against a second, drawing his sword at the same time, 
and striking with such inconsiderate fury that his weapon 
encountered a thick branch which hung over him, and he 
was disarmed by the violence of his own blow. He was 
instantly made prisoner, and pulled from his horse by 
two or three of the banditti who crowded around him. 
Athelstane shared his captivity, his bridle having been 
seized and he himself forcibly dismounted long before he 
could draw his weapon or assume any posture of effectual 
defence. 

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised 



e. oo*a fons.ntr. 

and foul led fr^orn jj.s Jyrt-se^ 
























































































































. 










































































— 























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** 



















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IVANHOE. 


193 


and terrified at the fate of their masters, fell an easy prey 
to the assailants; while the Lady Rowena, in the centre 
of the cavalcade, and the Jew and his daughter in the 
rear, experienced the same misfortune. 

Of all the train none escaped except Wamba, who 
showed upon the occasion much more courage than those 
who pretended to greater sense. He possessed himself 
of a sword belonging to one of the domestics, who was 
just drawing it with a tardy and irresolute hand, laid it 
about him like a lion, drove back several who approached 
him, and made a brave though ineffectual attempt to 
succour his master. Rinding himself overpowered, the 
Jester at length threw himself from his horse, plunged 
into the thicket, and, favoured by the general confusion, 
escaped from the scene of action. 

Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himself 
safe, hesitated more than once whether he should not turn 
back and share the captivity of a master to whom he was 
sincerely attached. 

“I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom,” 
he said to himself, “ but I wish any wise man would 
teach me what use to make of it now that I have it.” 

As he pronounced these words aloud, a voice very near 
him called out in a low and cautious tone, “ Wamba!” 
and at the same time a dog, which he recognised to be 
Fangs, jumped up and fawned upon him. “ G-urth ! ” 
answered Wamba with the same caution, and the swine¬ 
herd immediately stood before him. 

“ What is the matter ? ” said he, eagerly; “ what mean 
these cries and that clashing of swords ? ” 

“Only a trick of the times,” said Wamba; “they are 
all prisoners.” 

« Who are prisoners ?” exclaimed Gurth, impatiently. 

“ My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hunde- 
bert and Oswald.” 

«In the name of God!” said Gurth, “how came they 
prisoners ? — and to whom ? ” 

“ Our master was too ready to fight,” said the Jester, 
“and Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other 
person was ready at all. And they are prisoners to 
o 


194 


IVANHOE. 


green cassocks and black visors. And they lie all tum¬ 
bled abont on the green, like the crab-apples that yon 
shake down to yonr swine. And I would laugh at it,” 
said the honest Jester, “if I could for weeping.” And 
he shed tears of unfeigned sorrow. 

Gurth’s countenance kindled. “Wamba,” he said, 
“ thou hast a weapon, and thy heart was ever stronger 
than thy brain; we are only two — : but a sudden attack 
from men of resolution will do much — follow me ! ” 

“ Whither ? and for what purpose ? ” said the Jester. 

“ To rescue Cedric.” 

“But you have renounced his service but now,” said 
Wamba. 

“ That,” said Gurth, “ was but while he was fortunate; 
follow me ! ” 

As the Jester was about to obey, a third person sud¬ 
denly made his appearance and commanded them both 
to halt. From his dress and arms, Wamba would have 
conjectured him to be one of those outlaws who had just 
assailed his master; but, besides that he wore no mask, 
the glittering baldric across his shoulder, with the rich 
bugle-horn which it supported, as well as the calm and 
commanding expression of his voice and manner, made 
him, notwithstanding the twilight, recognise Locksley, 
the yeoman who had been victorious, under such disad- 
•vantageous circumstances, in the contest for the prize of 
archery. 

“ What is the meaning of all this,” said he, “ or who 
is it that rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners in these 
forests ?” 

“You may look at their cassocks close by,” said 
Wamba, “and see whether they be thy children’s coats 
or no — for they are as like thine own as one green pea- 
cod is to another.” 

“ I will learn that presently,” answered Locksley: 
“ and I charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir from 
the place where ye stand, until I have returned. Obey 
me, and it shall be the better for you and your masters. 
— Yet stay, I must render myself as like these men as 
possible.” 


IVANHOE. 


195 


So saying, he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, 
took a feather from his cap, and gave them to Wamba; 
then drew a vizard from his pouch, and repeating his 
charges to them to stand fast, went to .execute his pur¬ 
pose of reconnoitring. 

“ Shall we stand fast, Gurth ? ” said Wamba, “ or shall 
we e’en give him leg-bail ? In my foolish mind, he had 
all the equipage of a thief too much in readiness to be 
himself a true man.” 

“Let him be the devil,” said Gurth, “an he will. We 
can be no worse of waiting his return. If he belong to 
that party, he must already have given them the alarm, 
and it will avail nothing either to fight or fly. Besides, 
I have late experience that arrant thieves are not the 
worst men in the world to have to deal with.” 

The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes. 

“ Friend Gurth,” he said, “ I have mingled among yon 
men, and have learnt to whom they belong, and whither 
they are bound. There is, I think, no chance that they 
will proceed to any actual violence against their pris¬ 
oners. F6r three men to attempt them at this moment 
were little else than madness; for they are good men of 
war, and have, as such, placed sentinels to give the alarm 
when any one approaches. But I trust soon to gather 
such a force as may act in defiance of all their precau¬ 
tions. You are both servants, and, as I think, faithful 
servants, of Cedric the Saxon, the friend of the rights of 
Englishmen. He shall not want English hands to help 
him in this extremity. Come, then, with me, until I 
gather more aid.” 

So saying, he walked through the wood at a great 
pace, followed by the Jester and the swineherd. It was 
not consistent with Wamba’s humour to travel long in 
silence. 

“ I think,” said he, looking at the baldric and bugle 
which he still carried, “that I saw the arrow shot 
which won this gay prize, and that not so long since as 
Christmas.” 

“And I,” said Gurth, “could take it on my halidome 
that I have heard the voice of the good yeoman who 


196 


IVANHOE. 


won it, by night as well as by day, and that the moon is 
not three days older since I did so.” 

“ Mine honest friends,” replied the yeoman, “ who or 
what I am is little to the present purpose; should I free 
your master, you will have reason to think me the best 
friend you have ever had in your lives. And whether T 
am known by one name or another, or whether I can 
draw a bow as well or better than a cow-keeper, or 
whether it is my pleasure to walk in sunshine or by 
moonlight, are matters which, as they do not concern 
you, so neither need ye busy yourselves respecting them.” 

“ Our heads are in the lion’s mouth,” said Wamba, in 
a whisper to Gurth, “ get them out how we can.” 

“ Hush — be silent,” said Gurth. “ Offend him not by 
thy folly, and I trust sincerely that all will go well.” 


CHAPTEB XX. 

When autumn nights were long and drear, 
And forest walks w 7 ere dark and dim, 
How sweetly on the pilgrim’s ear 
Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn I 


Devotion borrows Music’s tone, 

And Music took Devotion’s wing ; 

And, like the bird that hails the sun, 

They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

The Hermit of St. Clement's Well. 

It was after three hours’ good walking that the ser¬ 
vants of Cedric, with their mysterious guide, arrived at 
a small opening in the forest, in the centre of which 
grew an oak tree of enormous magnitude, throwing its 
twisted branches in every direction. Beneath this tree 
four or five yeomen lay stretched on the ground, while 
another, as sentinel, walked to and fro in the moonlight 
shade. 

Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch 
instantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers as suddenly 
started up and bent their bows. Six arrows placed on 


IVANHOE. 


197 


the string were pointed towards the quarter from which 
the travellers approached, when their guide, being recog¬ 
nised, was welcomed with every token of respect and 
attachment, and all signs and fears of a rough reception 
at once subsided. 

“ Where is the Miller ? ” was his first question. 

“ On the road towards Rotherham.” 

“With how many?” demanded the leader, for such 
he seemed to be. 

“ With six men, and good hope of booty, if it please 
St. Nicholas.” 

“ Devoutly spoken,” said Locksley; “ and where is 
Allan-a-Dale ? ” 

“Walked up towards the Watling Street to watch for 
the Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

“ That is well thought on also,” replied the Captain; 
“ and where is the Friar ? ” 

“ In his cell.” 

“Thither will I go,” said Locksley. “Disperse and 
seek your companions. Collect what force you can, for 
there’s game afoot that must be hunted hard, and will 
turn to bay. Meet me here by daybreak. — And, stay,” 
he added, “ I have forgotten what is most necessary of 
the whole. — Two of you take the road quickly towards 
Torquilstone, the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. A set of 
gallants, who have been masquerading in such guise as 
our own, are carrying a band of prisoners thither.— 
Watch them closely, for even if they reach the castle 
before we collect our force, our honour is concerned to 
punish them, and we will find means to do so. Keep a 
close watch on them, therefore; and despatch one of 
your comrades, the lightest of foot, to bring the news of 
the yeomen thereabout.” 

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with 
alacrity on their different errands. In the meanwhile, 
their leader and his two companions, who now looked 
upon him with great respect, as well as some fear, pur¬ 
sued their way to the chapel of Copmanhurst. 

When they reached the little moonlight glade, having 
in front the reverend though ruinous chapel and the rud9 


198 


IVANHOE. 


hermitage, so well suited to ascetic devotion, Wamba 
whispered to G-urth, “ If this be the habitation of a thief, 
it makes good the old proverb, ‘The nearer the church the 
farther from God.’ — And by my cockscomb,’ 7 he added, 
“ I think it be even so. Hearken but to the black sanc- 
tus which they are singing in the hermitage! ” 

In fact, the anchorite and his guest were performing, 
at the full extent of their very powerful lungs, an old 
drinking song, of which this was the burden: 

4 Come, trowl the brown howl to me, 

Bully hoy, hully boy, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me. 

Ho ! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.’ 

“Now, that is not ill sung,” said Wamba, who had 
thrown in a few of his own flourishes to help out the 
chorus. “But who, in the saint’s name, ever expected 
to have heard such a jolly chant come from out a hermit’s 
cell at midnight! ” 

“Marry, that should I,” said Gurth, “for the jolly 
Clerk of Copmanhurst is a known man, and kills half the 
deer that are stolen in this walk. Men say that the 
keeper has complained to his official, and that he will be 
stripped of his cowl and cope altogether if he keep not 
better order.” 

While they were thus speaking, Locksley’s loud and 
repeated knocks had at length disturbed the anchorite 
and his guest. “ By my beads,” said the hermit, stop¬ 
ping short in a grand flourish, “ here come more benighted 
guests. I would not for my cowl that they found us in 
this goodly exercise. All men have their enemies, good 
Sir Sluggard; and there be those malignant enough to 
constrfie the hospitable refreshment which I have been 
offering to you, a weary traveller, for the matter of three 
short hours, into sheer drunkenness and debauchery, 
vices alike alien to my profession and my disposition.” 

“ Base calumniators ! ” replied the knight; “I would I 
had the chastising of them. Nevertheless, Holy Clerk, 
it is true that all have their enemies ; and there be those 


IVANHOE. 


199 


in this very land whom I would rather speak to through 
the bars of my helmet than barefaced.” 

“ Get thine iron pot on thy head then, friend Sluggard, 
as quickly as thy nature will permit,” said the hermit, 
“ while I remove these pewter flagons, whose late contents 
run strangely in mine own pate; and to drown the clatter 
— for, in faith, I feel somewhat unsteady — strike into 
the tune which thou hearest me sing. It is no matter 
for the words; I scarce know them myself.” 

So saying, he struck up a thundering De profundis cla- 
mavi, under cover of which he removed the apparatus of 
their banquet; while the knight, laughing heartily, and 
arming himself all the while, assisted his host with his 
voice from time to time as his mirth permitted. 

“ What devil’s matins are you after at this hour ? ” 
said a voice from without. 

“ Heaven forgive you, Sir Traveller! ” said the hermit, 
whose own noise, and perhaps his nocturnal potations, pre¬ 
vented from recognising accents which were tolerably 
familiar to him. — “ Wend on your way, in the name of 
God and St. Dunstan, and disturb not the devotions of 
me and my holy brother.” 

“ Mad priest,” answered the voice from without, “ open 
to Locksley! ” 

“ All’s safe — all’s right,” said the hermit to his com¬ 
panion. 

“But who is he?” said the Black Knight; “it im¬ 
ports me much to know.” 

“ Who is he ? ” answered the hermit; “ I tell thee he 
is a friend.” 

“But what friend?” answered the knight; “for he 
may be friend to thee and none of mine.” 

“What friend!” replied the hermit; “that, now, is 
one of the questions that is more easily asked than an¬ 
swered. What friend ! — why, he is, now that I bethink 
me a little, the very same honest keeper I told thee of a 
while since.” 

“ Ay, as honest a keeper as thou art a pious hermit,” 
replied the knight, “ I doubt it not. But undo the door 
tohim before he beat it from its hinges.” 


200 


IVANHOE. 


The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a dreadful 
baying at the commencement of the disturbance, seemed 
now- to recognise the voice of him who stood without; 
for, totally changing their manner, they scratched and 
whined at the door, as if interceding for his admission. 
The hermit speedily unbolted his portal, and admitted 
Locksley, with his two companions. 

“ Why, hermit,” was the yeoman’s first question as 
soon as he beheld the knight, “ what boon companion 
hast thou here ? ” 

“ A brother of our order,” replied the Friar, shaking 
his head; “ we have been at our orisons all night.” 

“ He is a monk of the church militant, I think,” an¬ 
swered Locksley; “and there be more of them abroad. 
I tell thee, Friar, thou must lay down the rosary and 
take up the quarter-staff; we shall need every one of our 
merry men, whether clerk or layman. But,” he added, 
taking him a step aside, “ art thou mad ? to give admit¬ 
tance to a knight thou dost not know ? Hast thou for¬ 
got our articles ? ” 

“Not know him!” replied the Friar, boldly, “I know 
him as well as the beggar knows his dish.” 

“ And what is his name, then ? ” demanded Locksley. 

“His name,” said the hermit — “his name is Sir An¬ 
thony of Scrabelstone; as if I would drink with a man, 
and did not know his name ! ” 

“ Thou hast been drinking more than enough, Friar,” 
said the woodsman, “and, I fear, prating more than 
enough too.” 

“ Good yeoman,” said the knight, coming forward, “ be 
not wroth with my merry host. He did but afford me 
the hospitality which I would have compelled from him 
if he had refused it.” 

“ Thou compel! ” said the Friar; “ wait but till I have 
changed this grey gown for a green cassock, and if I 
make not a quarter-staff ring twelve upon thy pate, I am 
neither true clerk nor good woodsman.” 

While he spoke thus, he stript off his gown, and ap¬ 
peared in a close black buckram doublet and drawers, 
over which he speedily did on a cassock of green and 


IVANHOE. 


201 


hose of the same colour. “ I pray thee, truss my points/ 5 
said he to Wamba, “ and thou shalt have a cup of sack 
for thy labour.” 

“ Gramercy for thy sack/ 5 said Wamba; “but think’st 
thou it is lawful for me to aid you to transmew thyself 
from a holy hermit into a sinful forester ? 55 

“ Never fear,” said the hermit; “I will but confess the 
sins of my green cloak to my grey friar’s frock, and all 
shall be well again.” 

“ Amen! ” answered the Jester. “ A broadcloth peni¬ 
tent should have a sackcloth confessor, and your frock 
may absolve my motley doublet into the bargain.” 

So saying, he accommodated the Friar with his assist¬ 
ance in tying the endless number of points, as the laces 
which attached the hose to the doublet were then termed. 

While they were thus employed, Locksley led the 
knight a little apart, and addressed him thus : “ Deny it 
not, Sir Knight, you are he who decided the victory to 
the advantage of the English against the strangers on 
the second day of the tournament at Ashby.” 

“ And what follows if you guess truly, good yeoman ? ” 
replied the knight. 

“ I should in that case hold you,” replied the yeoman, 
“ a friend to the w T eaker party.” 

“ Such is the duty of a true knight at least,” replied 
the Black Champion ; “ and I would not willingly that 
there were reason to think otherwise of me.” 

“ But for my purpose,” said the yeoman, “ thou shouldst 
be as well a good Englishman as a good knight; for that 
which I have to speak of concerns, indeed, the duty of 
every honest man, but is more especially that of a true- 
born native of England.” 

“ You can speak to no one,” replied the knight, “ to 
whom England, and the life of every Englishman, can be 
dearer than to me.” 

“I would willingly believe so,” said the woodsman, 
“ for never had this country such need to be supported 
by those who love her. Hear me, and I will tell thee of 
an enterprise in which, if thou be’st really that which 
thou seemest, thou mayst take an honourable part. A 


202 


IVANHOE. 


band of villains, in the disguise of better men than them* 
selves, have made themselves master of the person of a 
noble Englishman, called Cedric the Saxon, together with 
his ward, and his friend Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and 
have transported them to a castle in this forest, called 
Torquilstone. I ask of thee, as a good knight and a good 
Englishman, wilt thou aid in their rescue ? ” 

“ I am bound by my vow to do so,” replied the knight; 
" but I would willingly know who you are, who request 
my assistance in their behalf ? ” 

“ I am,” said the forester, “ a nameless man; but I am 
the friend of my country, and of my country’s friends. — 
With this account of me you must for the present re¬ 
main satisfied, the more especially since you yourself de¬ 
sire to continue unknown. Believe, however, that my 
word, when pledged, is as inviolate as if I wore golden 
spurs.” 

“ I willingly believe it,” said the knight; “ I have been 
accustomed to study men’s countenances, and I can read 
in thine honesty and resolution. I will, therefore, ask 
thee no further questions, but aid thee in setting at free¬ 
dom these oppressed captives; which done, I trust we 
shall part better acquainted, and well satisfied with each 
other.” 

“ So,” said Wamba to Gurth, —for the Friar being now 
fully equipped, the Jester, having approached to the other 
side of the hut, had heard the conclusion of the con¬ 
versation— “so we have got a new ally ? I trust the 
valour of the knight will be truer metal than the religion 
of the hermit or the honesty of the yeoman; for this 
Locksley looks like a born deer-stealer, and the priest 
like a lusty hypocrite.” 

“Hold thy peace, Wamba,” said Gurth; “it may all 
be as thou dost guess; but were the horned devil to rise 
and proffer me his assistance to set at liberty Cedric and 
the Lady Bowena, I fear I should hardly have religion 
enough to refuse the foul fiend’s offer, and bid him get 
behind me.” 

The Friar was now completely accoutred as a yeoman, 
with sword and buckler, bow and quiver, and a strong 


IVANHOE. 


203 


partisan over his shoulder. He left his cell at the head 
of the party, and, having carefully locked the door, de¬ 
posited the key under the threshold. 

“ Art thou in condition to do good service, Friar,” said 
Locksley, “or does the brown bowl still run in thy 
head ? ” 

“Not more than a draught of St. Dunstan’s fountain 
will allay,” answered the priest; “ something there is of 
a whizzing in my brain, and of instability in my legs, but 
you shall, presently see both pass away.” 

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, in which the 
waters of the fountain as they fell formed bubbles which 
danced in the white moonlight, and took so long a draught 
as if he had meant to exhaust the spring. 

“ When didst thou drink as deep a draught of water 
before, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ? ” said the Black 
Knight. 

“Never since my wine butt leaked, and let out its 
liquor by an illegal vent,” replied the Friar, “and so 
left me nothing to drink but my patron’s bounty here.” 

Then plunging his hands and head into the foun¬ 
tain, he washed from them all marks of the midnight 
revel. 

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled 
his heavy partisan round his head with three Augers, as 
if he had been balancing a reed, exclaiming at the same 
time, “Where be those false ravishers who carry off 
wenches against their will ? May the foul fiend fly off 
with me, if I am not man enough for a dozen of them.” 

“ Swearest thou, Holy Clerk ? ” said the Black Knight. 

“ Clerk me no clerks,” replied the transformed priest; 
“ by St. George and the Dragon, I am no longer a shave¬ 
ling than while my frock is on my back. — When I am 
cased in my green cassock, I will drink, swear, and woo 
a lass with any blythe forester in the West Biding.” 

“ Come on/ Jack Priest,” said Locksley, “ and be 
silent; thou art as noisy as a whole convent on a holy 
eve, when the Father Abbot has gone to bed. — Come on 
you, too, my masters, tarry not to talk of it — I say, 
eorne on; we must collect all our forces, and few enough 


204 


IVANHOE. 


we snail have, if we are to storm the castle of Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf.” 

“ What! is it Front-de-Bceuf,” said the Black Knight, 
“ who has stopt on the king’s highway the king’s liege 
subjects ? — Is he turned thief and oppressor ? ” 

“ Oppressor he ever was,” said Locksley. 

“And for thief,” said the priest, “I doubt if ever he 
were even half so honest a man as many a thief of my 
acquaintance.” 

“ Move on, priest, and be silent,” said the yeoman ; “ it 
were better you led the way to the place of rendezvous 
than say what should be left unsaid, both in decency and 
prudence.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Alas, how many hours and years have past, 

Since human forms have round this table sate, 

Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam’d! 

Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass’d 
Still murmuring o’er us, in the lofty void 
Of these dark arches, like the ling’ring voices 
Of those who long within their graves have slept. 

Orra, a Tragedy. 

While these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric 
and his companions, the armed men by whom the latter 
had been seized, hurried their captives along towards the 
place of security where they intended to imprison them. 
But darkness came on fast, and the paths of the wood 
seemed but imperfectly known to the marauders. They 
were compelled to make several long halts, and once 
or twice to return on their road to resume the direc¬ 
tion which they wished to pursue. The summer morn 
had dawned upon them ere they could travel in full 
assurance that they held the right path. But confidence 
returned with light, and the cavalcade now moved rapidly 
forward. Meanwhile, the following dialogue took place 
between the two leaders of the banditti: 

“ It is time thou shouldst leave us, Sir Maurice,” said 
the Templar to De Bracy, “ in order to prepare the second 


IV AN HOE. 


205 


part of thy mystery. Thou art next, thou knowest, to 
act the Knight Deliverer.” 

“I have thought better of it,” said De Bracy; “I will 
not leave thee till the prize is fairly deposited in Front- 
de-Boeufs castle. There will I appear before the Lady 
Rowena in mine own shape, and trust that she will set 
down to the vehemence of my passion the violence of 
which I have been guilty.” 

“And what has made thee change thy plan, De Bracy ? ” 
replied the Knight Templar. 

“ That concerns thee nothing,” answered his companion. 

“I would hope, however, Sir Knight,” said the Tem¬ 
plar, “ that this alteration of measures arises from no 
suspicion of my honourable meaning, such as Fitzurse 
endeavoured to instil into thee?” 

“ My thoughts are my own,” answered De Bracy ; “ the 
fiend laughs, they say, when one thief robs another; and 
we know, that were he to spit fire and brimstone instead, 
it would never prevent a Templar from following his 
bent.” 

“Or the leader of a Free Company,” answered the 
Templar, “ from dreading at the hands of a comrade and 
friend the injustice he does to all mankind.” 

“This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,” 
answered De Bracy; “suffice it to say, I know the 
morals of the Temple Order, and I will not give thee 
the power of cheating me out of the fair prey for which 
I have run such risks.” 

“ Psha,” replied the Templar, “ what hast thou to fear ? 

■— Thou knowest the vows of our Order.” 

“ Right well,” said De Bracy, “ and also how they are 
kept. Come, Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry have a 
liberal interpretation in Palestine, and this is a case in 
which I will trust nothing to your conscience.” 

“ Hear the truth, then,” said the Templar; “ I care not 
for your blue-eyed beauty. There is in that train one 
who will make me a better mate.” 

“ What! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel ? ” 
said De Bracy. 

45 Ho, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, haughtily. “To 


IVANHOE. 


206 


the waiting-woman will I not stoop. I have a prize among 
the captives as lovely as thine own.” 

“By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess!” said 
De Bracy. 

“ And if I do,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ who shall gainsay 
me?” 

“No one that I know,” said De Bracy, “unless it be 
your vow of celibacy or a check of conscience for an in¬ 
trigue with a Jewess.” 

“ For my vow,” said the Templar, “ our Grand Master 
hath granted me a dispensation. And for my conscience, 
a man that has slain three hundred Saracens need not 
reckon up every little failing, like a village girl at her 
first confession upon Good Friday eve.” 

“ Thou knowest best thine own privileges,” said De 
Bracy. “ Yet, I would have sworn thy thought had been 
more on the old usurer’s money-bags than on the black 
eyes of the daughter.” 

“ I can admire both,” answered the Templar; “ besides, 
the old Jew is but half-prize. I must share his spoils 
with Front-de-Boeuf, who will not lend us the use of his 
castle for nothing. I must have something that I can 
term exclusively my own by this foray of ours, and I 
have fixed on the lovely Jewess as my peculiar prize. 
But, now thou knowest my drift, thou wilt resume thine 
own original plan, wilt thou not ? —■ Thou hast nothing, 
thou seest, to fear from my interference.” 

“No,” replied De Bracy, “I will remain beside my 
prize. What thou sayst is passing true, but I like not 
the privileges acquired by the dispensation of the Grand 
Master, and the merit acquired by the slaughter of three 
hundred Saracens. You have too good a right to a free 
pardon, to render you very scrupulous about peccadilloes.” 

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was en¬ 
deavouring to wring out of those who guarded him an 
avowal of their character and purpose. “ You should be 
Englishmen,” said he; “ and yet, sacred Heaven! you 
prey upon your countrymen as if you were very Nor¬ 
mans. You should be my neighbours, and, if so, my 
friends; for which of my English neighbours have reason 


IVANHOE. 


207 


to be otherwise ? I tell ye, yeomen, that even those 
among ye who have been branded with outlawry have 
had from me protection; for I have pitied their miseries, 
and curst the oppression of their tyrannic nobles. What, 
then, would you have of me ? or in what can this violence 
serve ye? —Ye are worse than brute beasts in your ac¬ 
tions, and will you imitate them in their very dumbness ?” 

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his guards, 
who had too many good reasons for their silence to be in¬ 
duced to break it either by his wrath or his expostula¬ 
tions. They continued to hurry him along, travelling at 
a very rapid rate, until, at the end of an avenue of huge 
trees, arose Torquilstone, now the hoary and ancient castle 
of Reginald Front-de-BOeuf. It was a fortress of no great 
size, consisting of a donjon, or large and high square tower, 
surrounded by buildings of inferior height, which were 
encircled by an inner courtyard. Around the exterior 
wall was a deep moat, supplied with water from a neigh¬ 
bouring rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose character placed 
him often at feud with his enemies, had made consider¬ 
able additions to the strength of his castle, by building 
towers upon the o tward wall, so as to flank it at every 
angle. The access, as usual in castles of the period, lay 
through an arched barbican, or outwork, which was ter¬ 
minated and defended by a small turret at each corner. 

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-Boeuf’s 
castle raise their grey and moss-grown battlements, glim¬ 
mering in the morning sun above the wood by which they 
were surrounded, than he instantly augured more truly 
concerning the cause of his misfortune. 

“ I did injustice,” he said, “ to the thieves and outlaws 
of these woods, when I supposed such banditti to belong 
to their bands; I might as justly have confounded the 
foxes of these brakes with the ravening wolves of France. 
Tell me, dogs — is it my life or my wealth that your 
master aims at ? Is it too much that two Saxons, myself 
and the noble Athelstane, should hold land in the country 
which was once the patrimony of our race ? — Put us, 
then, to death, and complete your tyranny by taking our 
lives, as you began with our liberties, If the Saxon 


m 


1VANH0E. 


Cedric cannot rescue England, he is willing to die for 
her. Tell your tyrannical master, I do only beseech him 
to dismiss the Lady Rowena in honour and safety. She 
is a woman, and he need not dread her; and with us will 
die all who dare fight in her cause.” 

The attendants remained as mute to this address as to 
the former, and they now stood before the gate of the 
castle. De Bracy winded his horn three times, and the 
archers and cross-bow men, who had manned the wall 
upon seeing their approach, hastened to lower the draw¬ 
bridge and admit them. The prisoners were compelled 
by their guards to alight, and were conducted to an apart¬ 
ment where a hasty repast was offered them, of which 
none but Athelstane felt any inclination to partake. 
Neither had the descendant of the Confessor much time 
to do justice to the good cheer placed before them, for 
their guards gave him and Cedric to understand that they 
were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart from Rowena. 
Resistance was vain; and they were compelled to follow 
to a large room, which, rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, 
resembled those refectories and chapter-houses which 
may be still seen in the most ancient parts of our most 
ancient monasteries. 

The Lady Rowena was next separated from her train, 
and conducted, with courtesy, indeed, but still without 
consulting her inclination, to a distant apartment. The 
same alarming distinction was conferred on Rebecca, in 
spite of her father’s entreaties, who offered even money, 
in this extremity of distress, that she might be permitted 
to abide with him. “ Base unbeliever,” answered one of 
his guards, “ when thou hast seen thy lair, thou wilt not 
wish thy daughter to partake it.” And, without farther 
discussion, the old Jew was forcibly dragged off in a 
different direction from the other prisoners. The domes¬ 
tics, after being carefully searched and disarmed, were 
confined in another part of the castle ; and Rowena was 
refused even the comfort she might have derived from 
the attendance of her handmaiden Elgitha. 

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were con- 
fined, for to them we turn our first attention, although 



IVAN HOE. 


209 


at present used as a sort of guard-room, had formerly 
been the great hall of the castle. It was now abandoned 
to meaner purposes, because the present lord, among 
other additions to the convenience, security, and beauty 
of his baronial residence, had erected a new and noble 
hall, whose vaulted roof was supported by lighter and 
more elegant pillars, and fitted up with that higher de¬ 
gree of ornament which the Normans had already intro¬ 
duced into architecture. 

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant re¬ 
flections on the past and on the present, while the apathy 
of his companion served, instead of patience and philoso¬ 
phy,, to defend him against everything save the incon¬ 
venience of the present moment; and so little did he feel 
even this last, that he was only from time to time roused 
to a reply by Cedric’s animated and impassioned appeal 
to him. 

“ Yes,” said Cedric, half speaking to himself and half 
addressing himself to Athelstane, “it was in this very 
hall that my father feasted with Torquil Wolf ganger, 
when he entertained the valiant and unfortunate Harold, 
then advancing against the Norwegians, who had united 
themselves to the rebel Tosti. It was in this hall that 
Harold returned the magnanimous answer to the ambas¬ 
sador of his rebel brother. Oft have I heard my father 
kindle as he told the tale. The envoy of Tosti was ad¬ 
mitted, when this ample room could scarce contain the 
crowd of noble Saxon leaders who were quaffing the blood- 
red wine around their monarch.” 

“I hope,” said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this 
part of his friend’s discourse, “they will not forget to 
send us some wine and refections at noon — we had scarce 
a breathing-space allowed to break our fast, and I never 
have the benefit of my food when I eat immediately after 
dismounting from horseback, though the leeches recom¬ 
mend that practice.” 

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this 
interjectional observation of his friend: 

“The envoy of Tosti,” he said, “moved up the hall, 
undismayed by the frowning countenances of all around 


210 


IVANHOE. 


him, until he made his obeisance before the throne of 
King Harold. —‘ What terms/ he said, ‘ Lord King, hath 
thy brother Tosti to hope, if he should lay down his arms 
and crave peace at thy hands ? ’— ‘A brother’s love/ 
cried the generous Harold, ‘ and the fair earldom of 
Northumberland.’ — 6 But should Tosti accept these terms/ 
continued the envoy, ‘ what lands shall be assigned to his 
faithful ally, Hardrada, King of Norway ? ’ — ‘ Seven feet 
of English ground/ answered Harold, fiercely, ‘ or, as 
Hardrada is said to be a giant, perhaps we may allow 
him twelve inches more.’ — The hall rung with ac¬ 
clamations, and cup and horn was filled to the Norwegian, 
who should be speedily in possession of his English 
territory.” 

“ I could have pledged him with all my soul,” said 
Athelstane, “for my tongue cleaves to my palate.” 

“ The baffled envoy,” continued Cedric, pursuing with 
animation his tale, though it interested not the listener, 
“ retreated, to carry to Tosti and his ally the ominous 
answer of his injured brother. It was then that the dis¬ 
tant towers of York and the bloody streams of the Der¬ 
went beheld that direful conflict, in which, after display¬ 
ing the most undaunted valour, the King of Norway and 
Tosti both fell, with ten thousand of their bravest fol¬ 
lowers. — Who would have thought that, upon the proud 
day when this battle was won, the very gale which waved 
the Saxon banners in triumph was filling the Norman 
sails, and impelling them to the fatal shores of Sussex ? 
— Who would have thought that Harold, within a few 
brief days, would himself possess no more of his kingdom 
than the share which he allotted in his wrath to the Nor¬ 
wegian invader ?—Who would have thought that you, 
noble Athelstane — that you, descended of Harold’s blood, 
and that I, whose father was not the worst defender of 
the Saxon crown, should be prisoners to a vile Norman, 
in the very hall in which our ancestors held such high 
festival ? ” 

“ It is sad enough,” replied Athelstane; “ but I trust 
they will hold us to a moderate ransom. At any rate, it 
cannot be their purpose to starve us outright; and yet, 


IVANHOE. 


211 


although, it is high noon, I see no preparations for serving 
dinner. Look up at the window, noble Cedric, and judge 
by the sunbeams if it is not on the verge of noon.” 

“ It may be so,” answered Cedric; “ but I cannot look 
on that stained lattice without its awakening other re¬ 
flections than those which concern the passing moment 
or its privations. When that window was wrought, my 
noble friend, our hardy fathers knew not the art of mak¬ 
ing glass, or of staining it. The pride of Wolf ganger’s 
father brought an artist from Normandy to adorn his 
hall with this new species of emblazonment, that breaks 
the golden light of God’s blessed day into so many fan¬ 
tastic hues. The foreigner came here poor, beggarly, 
cringing, and subservient, ready to doff his cap to the 
meanest native of the household. He returned pampered 
and proud to tell his rapacious countrymen of the wealth 
and the simplicity of the Saxon nobles — a folly, 0 Athel- 
stane! foreboded of old, as well as foreseen by those de¬ 
scendants of Hengist and his hardy tribes who retained 
the simplicity of their manners. We made these 
strangers our bosom friends, our confidential servants; 
we borrowed their artists and their arts, and despised the 
honest simplicity and hardihood with which our brave 
ancestors supported themselves; and we became ener¬ 
vated by Norman arts long ere we fell under Norman 
arms. Tar better was our homely diet, eaten in peace 
and liberty, than the luxurious dainties, the love of which 
hath delivered us as bondsmen to the foreign conqueror ! ” 

“ I should,” replied Athelstane, “ hold very humble diet 
a luxury at present; and it astonishes me, noble Cedric, 
that you can bear so truly in mind the memory of past 
deeds, when it appeareth you forget the very hour of 
dinner.” 

“ It is time lost,” muttered Cedric apart and impatiently, 
<e to speak to him of aught else but that which concerns 
his appetite! The soul of Hardicanute hath taken pos¬ 
session of him, and he hath no pleasure save to fill, to 
swill, and to call for more. — Alas ! ” said he, looking at 
Athelstane with compassion, a that so dull a spirit should 
be lodged in so goodly a form! Alas ! that such an en- 


212 


IVANHOE. 


terprise as the regeneration of England should turn on a 
hinge so imperfect! Wedded to Rowena, indeed, her 
nobler and more generous soul may yet awake the better 
nature which is torpid within him. Yet how should this 
be, while Rowena, Athelstane, and I myself remain the 
prisoners of this brutal marauder, and have been made so 
perhaps from a sense of the dangers which our liberty 
might bring to the usurped power of his nation ? ” 

While the Saxon was plunged in these paiuful reflec¬ 
tions, the door of their prison opened and gave entrance 
to a sewer, holding his white rod of office. This impor¬ 
tant person advanced into the chamber with a grave pace, 
followed by four attendants, bearing in a table covered 
with dishes, the sight and smell of which seemed to be 
an instant compensation to Athelstane for all the incon¬ 
venience he had undergone. The persons who attended 
on the feast were masked and cloaked. 

“ What mummery is this ? ” said Cedric; “ think you 
that we are ignorant whose prisoners we are, when we 
are in the castle of your master? Tell him,” he con 
tinued, willing to use this opportunity to open a nego¬ 
tiation for his freedom — “ tell your master, Reginald 
Eront-de-Boeuf, that we know no reason he can have for 
withholding our liberty, excepting his unlawful desire to 
enrich himself at our expense. Tell him that we yield 
to his rapacity, as in similar circumstances we should do 
to that of a literal robber. Let him name the ransom at 
which he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid, providing 
the exaction is suited to our means.” 

The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head. 

“And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Bceuf,” said Athel¬ 
stane, “ that I send him my mortal defiance, and chal¬ 
lenge him to combat with me, on foot or horseback, at 
any secure place, within eight days after our liberation; 
which, if he be a true knight, he will not, under these 
circumstances, venture to refuse or to delay.” 

“ I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,” answered 
the sewer; “ meanwhile I leave you to your food.” 

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no 
good grace; for a large mouthful, which required the 


IVANHOE. 


213 


exercise of both jaws at once, added to a natural hesita¬ 
tion, considerably damped the effect of the bold defiance 
it contained. Still, however, his speech was hailed by 
Cedric as an incontestable token of reviving spirit in his 
companion, whose previous indifference had begun, not¬ 
withstanding his respect for Athelstane’s descent, to wear 
out his patience. But he now cordially shook hands with 
him in token of his approbation, and was somewhat grieved 
when Athelstane observed, “ That he would fight a dozen 
such men as Front-de-Boeuf, if by so doing he could hasten 
his departure from a dungeon where they put so much 
garlic into their pottage.” Notwithstanding this intima¬ 
tion of a relapse into the apathy of sensuality, Cedric 
placed himself opposite to Athelstane, and soon showed 
that, if the distresses of his country could banish the 
recollection of food while the table was uncovered, yet 
no sooner were the victuals put there than he proved that 
the appetite of his Saxon ancestors had descended to him 
along with their other qualities. 

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment, 
however, ere their attention was disturbed even from 
this most serious occupation by the blast of a horn winded 
before the gate. It was repeated three times, with as 
much violence as if it had been blown before an en¬ 
chanted castle by the destined knight at whose summons 
halls and towers, barbican and battlement, were to roll 
off like a morning vapour. The Saxons started from the 
table and hastened to the window. But their curiosity 
was disappointed; for these outlets only looked upon 
the court of the castle, and the sound came from beyond 
its precincts. The summons, however, seemed of impor¬ 
tance, for a considerable degree of bustle instantly took 
place in the castle. 


214 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

My daughter ! O my ducats ! 0 my daughter 

... O my Christian ducats ! 

Justice — the Law —my ducats and my daughter! 

Merchant of Venice . 

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet 
as soon as their ungratified curiosity should permit them 
to attend to the calls of their half-satiated appetite, we 
have to look in upon the yet more severe imprisonment 
of Isaac of York. The poor Jew had been hastily thrust 
into a dungeon-vault of the castle, the floor of which was 
deep beneath the level of the ground, and very damp, 
being lower than even the moat itself. The only light 
was received through one or two loop-holes far above the 
reach of the captive’s hand. These apertures admitted, 
even at mid-day, only a dim and uncertain light, which 
was changed for utter darkness long before the rest of 
the castle had lost the blessing of day. Chains and 
shackles, which had been the portion of former captives, 
from whom active exertions to escape had been appre¬ 
hended, hung rusted and empty on the walls of the 
prison, and in the rings of one of those sets of fetters 
there remained two mouldering bones, which seemed to 
have been once those of the human leg, as if some pris¬ 
oner had been left not only to perish there, but to be 
consumed to a skeleton. 

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire¬ 
grate, over the top of which were stretched some trans¬ 
verse iron bars, half-devoured with rust. 

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have 
appalled a stouter heart than that of Isaac, who, never¬ 
theless, was more composed under the imminent pressure 
of danger than he had seemed to be while affected by 
terrors of which the cause was as yet remote and contin¬ 
gent. The lovers of the chase say that the hare feels 
more agony during the pursuit of the greyhounds than 
when she is struggling in their fangs. And thus it is 


IVAN HOE, 


215 


probable that the Jews, by the very frequency of their 
fear on all occasions, had their minds in some degree 
prepared for every effort of tyranny which could be 
practised upon them ; so that no aggression, when it had 
taken place, could bring with it that surprise which is 
the most disabling quality of terror. Neither was it the 
first time that Isaac had been placed in circumstances so 
dangerous. He had therefore experience to guide him, 
as well as hope that he might again, as formerly, be 
delivered as a prey from the fowler. Above all, he had 
upon his side the unyielding obstinacy of his nation, and 
that unbending resolution with which Israelites have 
been frequently known to submit to the uttermost evils 
which power and violence can inflict upon them, rather 
than gratify their oppressors by granting their demands. 

In this humour of passive resistance, and with his 
garment collected beneath him to keep his limbs from 
the wet pavement, Isaac sat in a corner of his dungeon, 
where his folded hands, his dishevelled hair and beard, 
his furred cloak and high cap, seen by the wiry and 
broken light, would have afforded a study for Rem¬ 
brandt, had that celebrated painter existed at the period. 
The Jew remained without altering his position for 
nearly three hours, at the expiry of which steps were 
heard on the dungeon stair. The bolts screamed as they 
were withdrawn, the hinges creaked as the wicket opened, 
and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, followed by the two Sara¬ 
cen slaves of the Templar, entered the prison. 

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had 
been spent in public war or in private feuds and broils, 
and who had hesitated at no means of extending his 
feudal power, had features corresponding to his charac¬ 
ter, and which strongly expressed the fiercer and more 
malignant passions of the mind. The scars with which 
his visage was seamed would, on features of a different 
cast, have excited the sympathy and veneration due to 
the marks of honourable valour ; but, in the peculiar case 
of Front-de-Boeuf, they only added to the ferocity of his 
countenance, and to the dread which his presence in¬ 
spired. This formidable baron was clad in a leathern 


216 


IVANHOE. 


doublet, fitted close to his body, which was frayed and 
soiled with the stains of his armour. He had no 
weapon, excepting a poniard at his belt, which served to 
counterbalance the weight of the bunch of rusty keys 
that hung at his right side. 

The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were 
stripped of their gorgeous apparel, and attired in jerkins 
and trowsers of coarse linen, their sleeves being tucked 
up above the elbow, like those of butchers when about to 
exercise their function in the slaughter-house. Each 
had in his hand a small pannier; and, when they entered 
the dungeon, they stopt at the door until Front-de-Boeuf 
himself carefully locked and double-locked it. Having 
taken this precaution, he advanced slowly up the apart¬ 
ment towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed, 
as if he wished to paralyse him with his glance, as 
some animals are said to fascinate their prey. It seemed, 
indeed, as if the sullen and malignant eye of Front-de- 
Boeuf possessed some portion of that supposed power 
over his unfortunate prisoner. The Jew sate with his 
mouth agape, and his eyes fixed on the savage baron 
with such earnestness of terror that his frame seemed 
literally to shrink together, and to diminish in size while 
encountering the fierce Norman’s fixed and baleful gaze. 
The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only of the power 
of rising to make the obeisance which his terror dictated, 
but he could not even doff his cap, or utter any word of 
supplication; so strongly was he agitated by the con¬ 
viction that tortures and death were impending over 
him. 

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman 
appeared to dilate in magnitude, like that of the eagle, 
which ruffles up its plumage when about to pounce on its 
defenceless prey. He paused within three steps of the 
corner in which the unfortunate Jew had now, as it were, 
coiled himself up into the smallest possible space, and 
made a sign for one of the slaves to approach. The 
black satellite came forward accordingly, and, producing 
from his basket a large pair of scales and several weights, 
he laid them at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf, and again 


IVANHOE. 


217 


retired to the respectful distance at which his companion 
had already taken his station. 

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if 
there impended over their souls some preconception of 
horror and of cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf himself opened 
the scene by thus addressing his ill-fated captive. 

“ Most accursed dog of an accursed race/’ he said, 
awaking with his deep and sullen voice the sullen echoes 
of his dungeon-vault, “ seest thou these scales ? ” 

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative. 

“ In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,” said 
the relentless Baron, “a thousand silver pounds, after 
the just measure and weight of the Tower of London.” 

“Holy Abraham!” returned the Jew, finding voice 
through the very extremity of his danger, “ heard man 
ever such a demand ? — Who ever heard, even in a min¬ 
strel’s tale, of such a sum as a thousand pounds of 
silver ? — What human sight was ever blessed with the 
vision of such a mass of treasure? — Hot within the 
walls of York, ransack my house and that of all my 
tribe, wilt thou find the tithe of that huge sum of silver 
that thou speakest of.” 

“I am reasonable,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “and if 
silver be scant, I refuse not gold. At the rate of a mark 
of gold for each six pounds of silver, thou shalt free thy 
unbelieving carcass from such punishment as thy heart 
has never even conceived.” 

“ Have mercy on me, noble knight! ” exclaimed Isaac; 
“ I am old, and poor, and helpless. It were unworthy to 
triumph over me. — It is a poor deed to crush a worm.” 

“Old thou mayst be,” replied the knight; “more 
shame to their folly who have suffered thee to grow grey 
in usury and knavery. Feeble thou mayest be, for when 
had a Jew either heart or hand. But rich it is well 
known thou art.” 

“ I swear to you, noble knight,” said the Jew, “ by all 
which I believe, and by all which we believe in com¬ 
mon -” 

“Perjure not thyself,” said the Norman, interrupting 
him, “ and let not thine obstinacy seal thy doom, until 



218 


IVANHOE. 


thou hast seen and well considered the fate that awaits 
thee. Think not I speak to thee only to excite thy ter¬ 
ror, and practise on the base cowardice thou hast derived 
from thy tribe. I swear to thee by that which thou dost 
not believe, by the Gospel which our church teaches, and 
by the keys which are given her to bind and to loose, 
that my purpose is deep and peremptory. This dungeon 
is no place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand times 
more distinguished than thou have died within these 
walls, and their fate hath never been known! But for 
thee is reserved a long and lingering death, to which 
theirs were luxury.” 

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, and 
spoke to them apart, in their own language; for he also 
had been in Palestine, where, perhaps, he had learnt his 
lesson of cruelty. The Saracens produced from their 
baskets a quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows, and a 
flask of oil. While the one struck a light with a flint 
and steel, the other disposed the charcoal in the large 
rusty grate which we have already mentioned, and exer¬ 
cised the bellows until the fuel came to a red glow. 

“Seest thou, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “the range 
of iron bars above that glowing charcoal ? — On that 
warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as if 
thou wert to rest on a bed of down. One of these slaves 
shall maintain the fire beneath thee, while the other shall 
anoint thy wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should 
burn. — How, choose betwixt such a scorching bed and 
the payment of a thousand pounds of silver; for, by the 
head of my father, thou hast no other option.” 

“It is impossible,” exclaimed the miserable Jew — “it 
is impossible that your purpose can be real! The good 
God of nature never made a heart capable of exercising 
such cruelty! ” 

“ Trust not to that, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ it 
were a fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who have 
seen a town sacked, in which thousands of my Christian 
countrymen perished by sword, by flood, and by fire, will 
blench from my purpose for the outcries or screams of 
one single wretched Jew ? Or thinkest thou that these 








































































































IVANIIOE. 


219 


swarthy slaves, who have neither law, country, nor con¬ 
science, but their master’s will — who use the poison, or 
the stake, or the poniard, or the cord, at his slightest 
wink — tliinkest thou that they will have mercy, who do 
not even understand the language in which it is asked ? 
Be wise, old man; discharge thyself of a portion of thy 
superfluous wealth; repay to the hands of a Christian a 
part of what thou hast acquired by the usury thou hast 
practised on those of his religion. Thy cunning may 
soon swell out once more thy shrivelled purse, but neither 
leech nor medicine can restore thy scorched hide and 
flesh wert thou once stretched on these bars. Tell down 
thy ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such rate thou 
canst redeem thee from a dungeon the secrets of which 
few have returned to tell. I waste no more words with 
thee — choose between thy dross and thy flesh and blood, 
and as thou choosest, so shall it be.” 

“So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers of our 
people assist me,” said Isaac, “ I cannot make the choice, 
because I have not the means of satisfying your exorbi¬ 
tant demand! ” 

“Seize him and strip him, slaves,” said the knight, “and 
let the fathers of his race assist him if they can.” 

The assistants, taking their directions more from the 
Baron’s eye and his hand than his tongue, once more 
stepped forward, laid hands on the unfortunate Isaac, 
plucked him up from the ground, and, holding him be¬ 
tween them, waited the hard-hearted Baron’s farther 
signal. The unhappy Jew eyed their countenances and 
that of Front-de-Boeuf, in hope of discovering some symp¬ 
toms of relenting; but that of the Baron exhibited the 
same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile which had been 
the prelude to his cruelty; and the savage eyes of the 
Saracens, rolling gloomily under their dark brows, acquir¬ 
ing a yet more sinister expression by the whiteness of 
the circle which surrounds the pupil, evinced rather the 
secret pleasure which they expected from the approach¬ 
ing scene, than any reluctance to be its directors or 
agents. The Jew then looked at the glowing furnace 
over which he was presently to be stretched, and seemg 


220 


IYANHOE. 


no chance of his tormentor’s relenting, his resolution 
gave way. 

“I will pay,” he said, “the thousand pounds of silver. — 
That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “ I will pay 
it with the help of my brethren; for I must beg as a men¬ 
dicant at the door of our synagogue ere I make up so un¬ 
heard-of a sum.—When and where must it be delivered?” 

“ Here,” replied Front-de-Boeuf — “ here it must be de¬ 
livered ; weighed it must be — weighed and told down 
on this very dungeon floor. — Thinkest thou I will part 
with thee until thy ransom is secure ? ” 

“And what is to be my surety,” said the Jew, “that I 
shall be at liberty after this ransom is paid ? ” 

“ The word of a Norman noble, thou pawn-broking 
slave,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “ the faith of a Norman 
nobleman, more pure than the gold and silver of thee and 
all thy tribe.” 

“ I crave pardon, noble lord,” said Isaac, timidly, “ but 
wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of one who 
will trust nothing to mine ? ” 

“ Because thou canst not help it, Jew,” said the knight, 
sternly. “ Wert thou now in thy treasure-chamber at 
York, and were I craving a loan of thy shekels, it would 
be thine to dictate the time of payment and the pledge 
of security. This is my treasure-chamber. Here I have 
thee at advantage, nor will I again deign to repeat the 
terms on which I grant thee liberty.” 

The Jew groaned deeply. “Grant me,” he said, “at 
least, with my own liberty, that of the companions with 
whom I travel. They scorned me as a Jew, yet they 
pitied my desolation, and because they tarried to aid me 
by the way a share of my evil hath come upon them; 
moreover, they may contribute in some sort to my ran¬ 
som.” 

“If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,” said Front-de- 
Bceuf, “ their ransom will depend upon other terms than 
thine. Mind thine own concerns, Jew, I warn thee, and 
meddle not with those of others.” 

“ I am, then,” said Isaac, “ only to be set at liberty, 
together with mine wounded friend ? ” 


IVANHOE. 


221 


“ Shall I twice recommend it,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ to 
a son of Israel, to meddle with his own concerns, and 
leave those of others alone ? Since thou hast made thy 
choice, it remains but that thou payest down thy ransom, 
and that at a short day.” 

“Yet hear me,” said the Jew, “for the sake of that 
very wealth which thou wouldst obtain at the expense of 

thy-” here he stopped short, afraid of irritating the 

savage Norman. But Front-de-Boeuf only laughed, and 
himself filled up the blank at which the Jew had hesi¬ 
tated. “ At the expense of my conscience, thou wouldst 
say, Isaac; speak it out — I tell thee, I am reasonable. 
I can bear the reproaches of a loser, even when that loser 
is a Jew. Thou wert not so patient, Isaac, when thou 
didst invoke justice against Jacques Fitzdotterel, for 
calling thee a usurious blood-sucker, when thy exactions 
had devoured his patrimony.” 

“'I swear by the Talmud,” said the Jew, “that your 
valour has been misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel 
drew his poniard upon me in mine own chamber, because 
I craved him for mine own silver. The term of payment 
was due at the Passover.” 

“I care not what he did,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “the 
question is, when shall I have mine own ? — when shall 
I have the shekels, Isaa<3 ? ” 

“ Let my daughter Bebecca go forth to York,” answered 
Isaac, “ with your safe-conduct, noble knight, and so 

soon as man and horse can return, the treasure-” here 

he groaned deeply, but added, after the pause of a few 
seconds: “ the treasure shall be told down on this very 
floor.” 

“ Thy daughter! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised, 
“ by heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of this. I deemed 
that yonder black-browed girl had been thy concubine, 
and I gave her to be a handmaiden to Sir Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of 
the days of old, who set us in these matters a wholesome 
example.” 

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling commu¬ 
nication made the very vault to ring, and astounded the 




222 


IVANHOE. 


two Saracens so much that they let go their hold of the 
Jew. He availed himself of his enlargement to throw 
himself on the pavement and clasp the knees of Front- 
de-Boeuf. 

“ Take all that you have asked,” said he, “ Sir Knight; 
take ten times more — reduce me to ruin and to beggary, 
if thou wilt, — nay, pierce me with thy poniard, broil me 
on that furnace; but spare my daughter, deliver her in 
safety and honour ! — As thou art born of woman, spare 
the honour of a helpless maiden. She is the image of 
my deceased Rachael — she is the last of six pledges of 
her love. Will you deprive a widowed husband of his 
sole remaining comfort ? — Will you reduce a father to 
wish that his only living child were laid beside her dead 
mother, in the tomb of our fathers ? ” 

“ I would,” said the Norman, somewhat relenting, 
“ that I had known of this before. I thought your race 
had loved nothing save their money-bags.” 

“ Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,” said 
Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent sympa¬ 
thy; “the hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat loves its 
young — the despised and persecuted race of Abraham 
love their children ! ” 

“ Be it so,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “ I will believe it in 
future, Isaac, for thy very sake — but it aids us not now; 
I cannot help what has happened, or what is to follow; 
my word is passed to my comrade in arms, nor would I 
break it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. Besides, 
why shouldst thou think evil is to come to the girl, even 
if she became Bois-Guilbert’s booty ? ” 

“ There will — there must! ” exclaimed Isaac, wring¬ 
ing his hands in agony; “ when did Templars breathe 
aught but cruelty to men and dishonour to women! ” 

“Dog of an infidel,” said Front-de-Boeuf, with spark¬ 
ling eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext for 
working himself into a passion, “blaspheme not the Holy 
Order of the Temple of Zion, but take thought instead to 
pay me the ransom thou hast promised, or woe betide thy 
Jewish throat! ” 

“Bobber and villain!” said the Jew, retorting the 


IVANHOE. 


223 


insults of his oppressor with passion, which, however 
impotent, he now found it impossible to bridle, “ I will 
pay thee nothing — not one silver penny will I pay thee 
—- unless my daughter is delivered to me in safety and 
honour!” 

“ Art thou in thy senses, Israelite ? ” said the Norman, 
sternly; “hast thy flesh and blood a charm against 
heated iron and scalding oil ? ” 

“I care not!” said the Jew, rendered desperate by 
paternal affection; “ do thy worst. My daughter is my 
flesh and blood, dearer to me a thousand times than those 
limbs which thy cruelty threatens. No silver will I give 
thee, unless I were to pour it molten down thy avaricious 
throat — no, not a silver penny will I give thee, Nazarene, 
were it to save thee from the deep damnation thy whole 
life has merited! Take my life if thou wilt, and say the 
Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to disappoint the 
Christian.” 

“We shall see that,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “for by the 
blessed rood, which is the abomination of thy accursed 
tribe, thou shalt feel the extremities of fire and steel! 
— Strip him, slaves, and chain him down upon the bars.” 

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the 
Saracens had already torn from him his upper garment, 
and were proceeding totally to disrobe him, when the 
sound of a bugle, twice winded without the castle, pene¬ 
trated even to the recesses of the dungeon, and immedi¬ 
ately after loud voices were heard calling for Sir Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf. Unwilling to be found engaged in his 
hellish occupation, the savage Baron gave the slaves 
a signal to restore Isaac’s garment, and quitting the 
dungeon with his attendants, he left the Jew to thank 
God for his own deliverance, or to lament over his daugh¬ 
ter’s captivity and probable fate, as his personal or 
parental feelings might prove strongest. 


224 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 

I’ll woo you, like a soldier, at arms’ end, 

And love you ’gainst the nature of love, force you. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona . 

The apartment to which the Lady Rowena had been 
introduced was fitted up with some rude attempts at 
ornament and magnificence, and her being placed there 
might be considered as a peculiar mark of respect not 
offered to the other prisoners. But the wife of Front-de- 
Boeuf, for whom it had been originally furnished, was 
long dead, and decay and neglect had impaired the few 
ornaments with which her taste had adorned it. The 
tapestry hung down from the walls in many places, and 
in others was tarnished and faded under the effects of the 
sun, or tattered and decayed by age. Desolate, however, 
as it was, this was the apartment of the castle which had 
been judged most fitting for the accommodation of 
the Saxon heiress ; and here she was left to meditate upon 
her fate, until the actors in this nefarious drama had 
arranged the several parts which each of them was to 
perform. This had been settled in a council held by 
Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar, in which, 
after a long and warm debate concerning the several 
advantages which each insisted upon deriving from his 
peculiar share in this audacious enterprise, they had at 
length determined the fate of their unhappy prisoners. 

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De 
Bracy, for whose advantage the expedition had been first 
planned, appeared to prosecute his views upon the hand 
and possessions of the Lady Rowena. 

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding 
council with his confederates, for De Bracy had. found 
leisure to decorate his person with all the foppery of the 
times. His green cassock and vizard were now flung 
aside. His long, luxuriant hair was trained to flow in 
quaint tresses down his richly furred cloak. His beard 





































































































4 


















' 

























































































. 





































































































































































































IVAN HOE. 


225 


was closely shaved, his doublet reached to the middle of 
his leg, and the girdle which secured it, and at the same 
time supported his ponderous sword, was embroidered 
and embossed with gold work. We have already noticed 
the extravagant fashion of the shoes at this period, and 
the points of Maurice de Bracy’s might have challenged the 
prize of extravagance with the gayest, being turned up 
and twisted like the horns of a ram. Such was the dress 
of a gallant of the period; and, in the present instance, 
that effect was aided by the handsome person and good 
demeanour of the wearer, whose manners partook alike 
of the grace of a courtier and the frankness of a soldier. 

He saluted Bowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, gar¬ 
nished with a golden brooch, representing St. Michael 
trampling down the Prince of Evil. With this, he gently 
motioned the lad} 7 " to a seat and, as she still retained her 
standing posture, the knight ungloved his right hand, 
and motioned to,conduct her thither. But Bowena de¬ 
clined, by her gesture, the proffered compliment, and 
replied : “ If I be in the presence of my jailor, Sir Knight 
— nor will circumstances allow me to think otherwise — 
it best becomes his prisoner to remain standing till she 
learns her doom.” 

“ Alas ! fair Bowena,” returned De Bracy, “ you are in 
presence of your captive, not your jailor; and it is from 
your fair eyes that De Bracy must receive that 'doom 
which you fondly expect from him.” 

“ I know you not, sir,” said the lady, drawing herself 
up with all the pride of offended rank and beauty— “ I 
know you not; and the insolent familiarity with which 
you apply to me the jargon of a troubadour forms no 
apology for the violence of a robber.” 

“ To thyself, fair maid,” answered De Bracy, in his 
former tone, “ to thine own charms be ascribed whatever 
I have done which passed the respect due to her whom I 
have chosen queen of my heart and loadstar of my eyes.” 

“ I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not, and 
that no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus to in¬ 
trude himself upon the presence of an unprotected lady.” 

“ That I am unknown to you,” said De Bracy, “is in- 

Q 


226 


IVANHOE. 


deed my misfortune; yet let me hope that De Bracy’s 
name has not been always unspoken when minstrels or 
heralds have praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the 
lists or in the battle-field.” 

“ To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise, 
Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “more suiting for their 
mouths than for thine own; and tell me which of them 
shall record in song, or in book of tourney, the memora¬ 
ble conquest of this night, a conquest obtained over an 
old man, followed by a few timid hinds; and its booty, 
an unfortunate maiden transported against her will to the 
castle of a robber ? ” 

“ You are unjust, Lady Rowena,” said the knight, biting 
his lips in some confusion, and speaking in a tone more 
natural to him than that of affected gallantry which he 
had at first adopted; “ yourself free from passion, you 
can allow no excuse for the frenzy of another, although 
caused by your own beauty.” 

“I pray you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “to cease a 
language so commonly used by strolling minstrels that it 
becomes not the mouth of knights or nobles. Certes, 
you constrain me to sit down, since you enter upon such 
commonplace terms, of which each vile crowder hath a 
stock that might last from hence to Christmas.” 

“ Proud damsel,” said De Bracy, incensed at finding his 
gallant style procured him nothing but contempt, “proud 
damsel, thou shalt be as proudly encountered. Know, 
then, that I have supported my pretentions to your hand 
in the way that best suited thy character. It is meeter 
for thy humour to be wooed with bow and bill than in set 
terms and in courtly language.” 

“ Courtesy of tongue,” said Rowena, “ when it is used 
to veil churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s girdle around 
the breast of a base clown. I wonder not that the re¬ 
straint appears to gall you — more it were for your 
honour to have retained the dress and language of an out¬ 
law than to veil the deeds of one under an affectation of 
gentle language and demeanour.” 

“You counsel well, lady,” said the Korman; “and in 
the bold language which best justifies bold action, I tell 


IVANHOE. 


227 


thee, thou shalt never leave this castle, or thou shalt leave 
it as Maurice de Bracy’s wife. I am not wont to be baffled 
in my enterprises, nor needs a Norman noble scrupulously 
to vindicate his conduct to a Saxon maiden whom he dis¬ 
tinguishes by the offer of his hand. Thou art proud, 
Rowena, and thou art the fitter to be my wife. By what 
other means couldst thou be raised to high honour and 
to princely place, saving by my alliance ? How else 
wouldst thou escape from the mean precincts of a coun¬ 
try grange, where Saxons herd with the swine which form 
their wealth, to take thy seat, honoured as thou shouldst 
be, and shalt be, amid all in England that is distinguished 
by beauty or dignified by power ? ” 

“ Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “ the grange which you 
contemn hath been my shelter from infancy; and, trust 
me, when I leave it — should that day ever arrive—it 
shall be with one who has not learnt to despise the dwell¬ 
ing and manners in which I have been brought up.” 

“ I guess your meaning, lady,” said De Bracy, “ though 
you may think it lies too obscure for my apprehension. 
But dream not that Richard Coeur-de-Lion will ever re¬ 
sume his throne, far less that Wilfred of Ivanhoe, his 
minion, will ever lead thee to his footstool, to be there 
welcomed as the bride of a favourite. Another suitor 
might feel jealousy while he touched this string; but my 
firm purpose cannot be changed by a passion so childish 
and so hopeless. Know, lady, that this rival is in my 
power, and that it rests but with me to betray the secret 
of his being within the castle to Front-de-Boeuf, whose 
jealousy will be more fatal than mine.” 

“ Wilfred here ! ” said Rowena, in disdain; ,v that is as 
true as that Front-de-Boeuf is his rival.” 

De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant. “ Wert 
thou really ignorant of this ? ” said he; “ didst thou not 
know that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelled in the litter of 
the Jew? — a meet conveyance for the crusader whose 
doughty arm was to reconquer the Holy Sepulchre h ? 
And he laughed scornfully. 

“ And if he is here,” said Rowena, compelling herself 
to a tone of indifference, though trembling with an agony 


228 


IVANHOE. 


of apprehension which she could not suppress, “ in what 
is he the rival of Front-de-Boeuf ? or what has he to fear 
beyond a short imprisonment and an honourable ransom 
according to the use of chivalry ? ” 

“ Rowena,” said De' Bracy, “ art thou, too, deceived by 
the common error of thy sex, who think there can be no 
rivalry but that respecting their own charms ? Knowest 
thou not there is a jealousy of ambition and of wealth, as 
well as of love; and that this our host, Front-de-Boeuf, 
will push from his road him who opposes his claim to the 
fair barony of Ivanhoe as readily, eagerly, and unscrupu¬ 
lously as if he were preferred to him by some blue-eyed 
damsel ? But smile on my suit, lady, and the wounded 
champion shall have nothing to fear from Front-de-Boeuf, 
whom else thou mayst mourn for, as in the hands of one 
who has never shown compassion.” 

“ Save him, for the love of Heaven! ” said Rowena, her 
firmness giving way under terror for her lover’s impend¬ 
ing fate. 

“ I can — I will — it is my purpose,” said De Bracy; 
“ for, when Rowena consents to be the bride of De Bracy, 
who is it shall dare to put forth a violent hand upon her 
kinsman — the son of her guardian — the companion of 
her youth ? But it is thy love must buy his protection. 
I am not romantic enough to further the fortune, or avert 
the fate, of one who is likely to be a successful obstacle 
between me and my wishes. Use thine influence with 
me in his behalf, and he is safe; refuse to employ it, Wil¬ 
fred dies, and thou thyself art not the nearer to freedom.” 

“ Thy language,” answered Rowena, “ hath in its indif¬ 
ferent bluntness something which cannot be reconciled 
with the horrors it seems to express. I believe not that 
thy purpose is so wicked, or thy power so great.” 

“ Flatter thyself, then, with that belief,” said De Bracy. 
“ until time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies wounded 
in this castle—thy preferred lover. He is a bar betwixt 
Front-de-Boeuf and that which Front-de-Boeuf loves better 
than either ambition or beauty. What will it cost beyond 
the blow of a poniard, or the thrust of a javelin, to silence 
his opposition for ever ? Nay, were Front-de-Boeuf afraid 


IVANHOE. 


229 


to justify a deed so open, let the leech but give his patient 
a wrong draught, let the chamberlain, or the nurse who 
tends him, but pluck the pillow from his head, and Wil¬ 
fred, in his present condition, is sped without the effusion 
of blood. Cedric also-” 

“ And Cedric also,” said Rowena, repeating his words 
— “ my noble — my generous guardian! I deserved the 
evil I have encountered, for forgetting his fate even in 
that of his son! ” 

“ Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determination,” 
said De Bracy, “ and I leave thee to form it.” 

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this trying 
scene with undismayed courage, but it was because she 
had not considered the danger as serious and imminent. 
Her disposition was naturally that which physiognomists 
consider as proper to fair complexions — mild, timid, 
and gentle; but it had been tempered, and, as it were, 
hardened, by the circumstances of her education. Accus¬ 
tomed to see the will of all, even of Cedric himself (suffi¬ 
ciently arbitrary with others) give way before her wishes, 
she had acquired that sort of courage and self-confidence 
which arises from the habitual and constant deference of 
the circle in which we move. She could scarce conceive 
the possibility of her will being opposed, far less that of 
its being treated with total disregard. 

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, there¬ 
fore, a fictitious character, induced over that which was 
natural to her, and it deserted her when her eyes were 
opened to the extent of her own danger, as well as that 
of her lover and her guardian ; and when she found her 
will, the slightest expression of which was wont to com¬ 
mand respect and attention, now placed in opposition to 
that of a man of a strong, fierce, and determined mind, 
who possessed the advantage over her, and was resoived 
to use it, she quailed before him. 

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the aid 
which was nowhere to be found, and after a few broken 
interjections, she raised her hands to heaven, and burst 
into a passion of uncontrolled vexation and sorrow. It 
was impossible to «ee so beautiful a creature in such 



230 


IVANHOE. 


extremity without feeling for her, and De Bracy was not 
unmoved, though he was yet more embarrassed than 
touched. He had, in truth, gone too far to recede; and. 
yet, in Rowena’s present condition, she could not be 
acted on either by argument or threats. He paced the 
apartment to and fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified 
maiden to compose herself, now hesitating concerning 
his own line of conduct. 

“ If,” thought he, “ I should be moved by the tears 
and sorrow of this disconsolate damsel, what should I 
reap but the loss of those fair hopes for which I have 
encountered so much risk, and the ridicule of Prince 
John and his jovial comrades. And yet,” he said to 
himself, u I feel myself ill framed for the part which I 
am playing. I cannot look on so fair a face while it is 
disturbed with agony, or on those eyes when they are 
drowned in tears. I would she had retained her original 
haughtiness of disposition, or that I had a larger share 
of Front-de-Boeuf’s thrice-tempered hardness of heart! ” 

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the un¬ 
fortunate Rowena be comforted, and assure her that as 
yet she had no reason for the excess of despair to which 
she was now giving way. But in this task of consola¬ 
tion De Bracy was interrupted by the horn, “hoarse- 
winded blowing far and keen,” which had at the same 
time alarmed the other inmates of the castle, and inter¬ 
rupted their several plans of avarice and of license. Of 
them all, perhaps, De Bracy least regretted the interrup¬ 
tion; for his conference with the Lady Rowena had 
arrived at a point where he found it equally difficult to 
prosecute or to resign his enterprise. 

And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer 
some better proof than the incidents of an idle tale to 
vindicate the melancholy representation of manners which 
has been just laid before the reader. It is grievous to 
think that those valiant barons, to whose stand against 
the crown the liberties of England were indebted for 
their existence, should themselves have been such dread¬ 
ful oppressors, and capable of excesses contrary not only 
to the laws of England, but to those of nature and hu- 


IVANHOE. 


231 


inanity. But, alas ! we have only to extract from the 
industrious Henry one of those numerous passages which 
he has collected from contemporary historians, to prove 
that fiction itself can hardly reach the dark reality of 
the horrors of the period. 

The description given by the author of the Saxon 
Chronicle of the cruelties exercised in the reign of King 
Stephen by the great barons and lords of castles, who 
were all Normans, affords a strong proof of the excesses 
of which they were capable when their passions were in¬ 
flamed. “ They grievously oppressed the poor people by 
building castles; and when they were built, they filled 
them with wicked men, or rather devils, who seized both 
men and women who they imagined had any money, 
threw them into prison, and put them to more cruel tor¬ 
tures than the martyrs ever endured. They suffocated 
some in mud, and suspended others by the feet, or the 
head, or the thumbs, kindling fires below them. They 
squeezed the heads of some with knotted cords till they 
pierced their brains, while they threw others into dun¬ 
geons swarming with serpents, snakes, and toads.” But 
it would be cruel to put the reader to the pain of perus-- 
ing the remainder of this description. 

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, 
and perhaps the strongest that can be quoted, we may 
mention, that the Empress Matilda, though a daughter 
of the King of Scotland, and afterwards both Queen of 
England and Empress of Germany, the daughter, the 
wife, and the mother of monarchs, was obliged, during 
her early residence for education in England, to assume 
the veil of a nun, as the only means of escaping the li¬ 
centious pursuit of the Norman nobles. This excuse she 
stated before a great council of the clergy of England, as 
the sole reason for her having taken the religious habit. 
The assembled clergy admitted the validity of the plea, 
and the notoriety of the circumstances upon which it 
was founded; giving thus an indubitable and most re¬ 
markable testimony to the existence of that disgraceful 
license by which that age was stained. It was a matter 
of public knowledge, they said, that after the conquest 


232 


IVANHOE. 


of King William, his Horman followers, elated by so 
great a victory, acknowledged no law but their own 
wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled the conquered 
Saxons of their lands and their goods, but invaded the 
honour of their wives and of their daughters with the 
most unbridled license; and hence it was then common 
for matrons and maidens of noble families to assume the 
veil, and take shelter in convents, not as called thither 
by the vocation of God, but solely to preserve their 
honour from the unbridled wickedness of man. 

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced 
by the public declaration of the assembled clergy, re¬ 
corded by Eadmer; and we need add nothing more to 
vindicate the probability of the scenes which we have 
detailed, and are about to detail, upon the more apocry¬ 
phal authority of the Wardour MS. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

I’ll woo her as the lion woos his bride. 

Douglas. 

While the scenes we have described were passing 
in other parts of the castle, the Jewess Rebecca awaited 
her fate in a distant and sequestered turret. Hither she 
had been led by two of her disguised ravishers, and on 
being thrust into the little cell, she found herself in the 
presence of an old sibyl, who kept murmuring to herself 
a Saxon rhyme, as if to beat time to the revolving dance 
which her spindle was performing upon the floor. The 
hag raised her head as Rebecca entered, and scowled at 
the fair Jewess with the malignant envy with which old 
age and ugliness, when united with evil conditions, are 
apt to look upon youth and beauty. 

“ Thou must up and away, old house-cricket,” said one 
of the men; “our noble master commands it — thou must 
e’en leave this chamber to a fairer guest.” 

“ Ay,” grumbled the hag, “ even thus is service re¬ 
quited. I have known when my bare word would have 


IVANHOE. 


233 


cast the best man-at-arms among ye out of saddle and 
out of service; and now must I up and away at the 
command of every groom such as thou.” 

“ Good Dame Urfried,” said the other man, “ stand not 
to reason on it, but up and away. Lords’ hests must be 
listened to with a quick ear. Thou hast had thy day, 
old dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now 
the very emblem of an old war-horse turned out on the 
barren heath; thou hast had thy paces in thy time, but 
now a broken amble is the best of them. Come, amble 
off with thee.” 

“ Ill omens dog ye both ! ” said the old woman; “ and 
a kennel be your burying-place! May the evil demon 
Zernebock tear me limb from limb, if I leave my own 
cell ere I have spun out the hemp on my distaff! ” 

“ Answer it to our lord, then, old house-fiend.” said 
the man, and retired, leaving Rebecca in company with 
the old woman, upon whose presence she had been thus 
unwillingly forced. 

“ What devil’s deed have they now in the wind ? ” said 
the old hag, murmuring to herself, yet from time to time 
casting a sidelong and malignant. glance at Rebecca; 
“ but it is easy to guess. Bright eyes, black locks, and 
a skin like paper, ere the priest stains it with his black 
unguent — ay, it is easy to guess why they send her to 
this lone turret, whence a shriek could no more be heard 
than at the depth of five hundred fathoms beneath the 
earth — thou wilt have owls for thy neighbours, fair 
one; and their screams will be heard as far, and as 
much regarded, as thine own. Outlandish, too,” she 
said, marking the dress and turban of Rebecca. “ What 
country art thou of? — a Saracen or an Egyptian? 
Why dost not answer ? Thou canst weep, canst thou 
not speak ? ” 

“ Be not angry, good mother,” said Rebecca. 

“Thou needst say no more,” replied Urfried; “men 
know a fox by the train, and a Jewess by her tongue.” 

“For the sake of mercy,” said Rebecca, “tell me 
what I am to expect as the conclusion of the vio¬ 
lence'which hath dragged me hither! Is it my life 


234 


1VANH0E. 


they seek, to atone for my religion? I will lay it dowr 
cheerfully . 57 

“ Thy life, minion ! 55 answered the sibyl; “ what would 
taking thy life pleasure them ? — trust me, thy life is in 
no peril. Such usage shalt thou have as was once thought 
good enough for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall a 
Jewess like thee repine because she hath no better? 
Look at me — I was as young and twice as fair as thou, 
when Front-de-Boeuf, father of this Reginald, and his 
Normans, stormed this castle. My father and his seven 
sons defended their inheritance from story to story, from 
chamber to chamber. There was not a room, not a step 
of the stair, that was not slippery with their blood. 
They died -— they died every man; and ere their bodies 
were cold, and ere their blood was dried, I had become 
the prey and the scorn of the conqueror ! 55 

“ Is there no help ? — are there no means of escape ? 55 
said Rebecca. “ Richly, richly would I requite thine aid . 55 

“ Think not of it , 55 said the hag; “ from hence there 
is no escape but through the gates of death; and it is 
late, late , 55 she added, shaking her grey head, “ ere 
these open to us. Yet it is comfort to think that we 
leave behind us on earth those who shall be wretched as 
ourselves. Fare thee well, Jewess!—Jew or Gentile, 
thy fate would be the same; for thou hast to do with 
them that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee well, 
I say. My thread is spun out —thy task is yet to begin . 55 

“ Stay! stay! for Heaven’s sake ! 55 said Rebecca, 
“stay, though it be to curse and to revile me — thy 
presence is yet some protection . 55 

“ The presence of the mother of God were no protec¬ 
tion , 55 answered the old woman. “ There she stands , 55 
pointing to a rude image of the Virgin Mary, “ see if she 
can avert the fate that awaits thee . 55 

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed 
into a sort of sneering laugh, which made them seem 
even more hideous than their habitual frown. She 
locked the door behind her, and Rebecca might hear 
her curse every step for its steepness, as slowly and with 
difficulty she descended the turret stair. 


IVANHOE. 


235 


Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful 
than that of Rowena; for what probability was there that 
either softness or ceremony would be used towards one 
of her oppressed race, whatever shadow of these might 
be preserved towards a Saxon heiress ? Yet had the 
Jewess this advantage, that she was better prepared by 
habits of thought, and by natural strength of mind, to 
encounter the dangers to which she was exposed. Of 
a strong and observing character, even from her earliest 
years, the pomp and wealth which her father displayed 
within his walls, or which she witnessed in the houses 
of other wealthy Hebrews, had not been able to blind 
her to the precarious circumstances under which they 
were enjoyed. Like Damocles at his celebrated banquet, 
Rebecca perpetually beheld, amid that gorgeous display, 
the sword which was suspended over the heads of her 
people by a single hair. These reflections had tamed 
and brought down to a pitch of sounder judgment a 
temper which, under other circumstances, might have 
waxed haughty, supercilious, and obstinate. 

From her father’s example and injunctions, Rebecca 
had learnt to bear herself courteously towards all who 
approached her. She could not indeed imitate his excess 
of subservience, because'she was a stranger to the mean¬ 
ness of mind and to the constant state of timid appre¬ 
hension by which it was dictated; but she bore herself 
with a proud humility, as if submitting to the evil cir¬ 
cumstances in which she was placed as the daughter of 
a despised race, while she felt in her mind the conscious¬ 
ness that she was entitled to hold a higher rank from 
her merit than the arbitrary despotism of religious preju¬ 
dice permitted her to aspire to. 

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she 
had acquired the firmness necessary for acting under 
them. Her present situation required all her presence 
of mind, and she summoned it up accordingly. . 

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it 
afforded few hopes either of escape or protection. It 
contained neither secret passage nor trap-door, and. 
unless where the door by which she had entered joined 


236 


IVANHOE. 


the main building, seemed to be circumscribed by the 
round exterior wall of the turret. The door had no 
inside bolt or bar. The single window opened upon an 
embattled space surmounting the turret, which gave 
Rebecca, at first sight, some hopes of escaping; but she 
soon found it had no communication with any other part 
of the battlements, being an isolated bartizan, or balcony, 
secured, as usual, by a parapet, with embrasures, at 
which a few archers might be stationed for defending 
the turret, and flanking with their shot the wall of the 
castle on that side. 

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, 
and in that strong reliance on Heaven natural to great 
and generous characters. Rebecca, however erroneously 
taught to interpret the promises of Scripture to the 
chosen people of Heaven, did not err in supposing the 
present to be their hour of trial, or in trusting that 
the children of Zion would be one day called in with the 
fulness of the Gentiles. In the meanwhile, all around 
her showed that their present state was that of punish¬ 
ment and probation, and that it was their especial duty 
bo suffer without sinning. Thus prepared to consider 
herself as the victim of misfortune, Rebecca had early 
reflected upon her own state, and schooled her mind to 
meet the dangers which she had probably to encounter. 

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, 
when a step was heard on the stair, and the door of the 
turret-chamber slowly opened, and a tall man, dressed as 
one of those banditti to whom they owed their misfor¬ 
tune, slowly entered, and shut the door behind him ; his 
cap, pulled down upon his brows, concealed the upper 
part of his face, and he held his mantle in such a manner 
as to muffle the rest. In this guise, as if prepared for 
the execution of some deed, at the thought of which he 
was himself ashamed, he stood before the affrighted pris¬ 
oner ; yet, ruffian as his dress bespoke him, he seemed at 
a loss to express what purpose had brought him thither, 
so that Rebecca, making an effort upon herself, had time 
to anticipate his explanation. She had already unclasped 
two costly bracelets and a collar, which she hastened to 


IVANHOE. 


237 


proffer to the supposed outlaw, concluding naturally that 
to gratify his avarice was to bespeak his favour. 

“ Take these/’ she said, “ good friend, and for God’s 
sake be merciful to me and my aged father. These 
ornaments are of value, yet are they trifling to what he 
would bestow to obtain our dismissal from this castle 
free and uninjured.” 

“ Fair flower of Palestine,” replied the outlaw, “ these 
pearls are orient, but they yield in whiteness to your 
teeth ; the diamonds are brilliant, but they cannot match 
your eyes ; and ever since I have taken up this wild 
trade, I have made a vow to prefer beauty to wealth.” 

“ Do not do yourself such wrong,” said Rebecca; “ take 
ransom, and have mercy! — Gold will purchase you 
pleasure; to misuse us could only bring thee remorse. 
My father will willingly satiate thy utmost wishes; and 
if thou wilt act wisely, thou mayst purchase with our 
spoils thy restoration to civil society — mayst obtain 
pardon for past errors, and be placed beyond the neces¬ 
sity of committing more.” 

“ It is well spoken,” replied the outlaw in French, 
finding it difficult probably to sustain in Saxon a conver¬ 
sation which Rebecca had opened in that language ; “ but 
know, bright lily of the vale of Baca! that thy father is 
already in the hands of a powerful alchemist, who knows 
how to convert into gold and silver even the rusty bars 
of a dungeon grate. The venerable Isaac is subjected 
to an alembic which will distil from him all he holds 
dear, without any assistance from my requests or thy 
entreaty. Thy ransom must be paid by love and beauty, 
and in no other coin will I accept it.” 

“ Thou art no outlaw,” said Rebecca, in the same lan¬ 
guage in which he addressed her ; “ no outlaw had refused 
such offers. No outlaw in this land uses the dialect in 
which thou hast spoken. Thou art no outlaw, but a 
Norman — a Norman, noble perhaps in birth. Oh, be so 
in thy actions, and cast off this fearful mask of outrage 
and violence! ” 

“ And thou, who canst guess so truly,” said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, dropping the mantle from nis face, “ a.rt 


238 


IVANHOE. 


no true daughter of Israel, but in all save youth and 
beauty a very witch of Endor. I am not an outlaw then, 
fair rose of Sharon. And I am one who will be more 
prompt to hang thy neck and arms with pearls and dia¬ 
monds, which so well become them, than to deprive thee 
of these ornaments.” 

“ What wouldst thou have of me,” said Rebecca, “ if 
not my wealth ? — We can have nought in common be¬ 
tween us— you are a Christian — I am a Jewess. Our 
union were contrary to the laws alike of the church and 
the synagogue.” 

“It were so, indeed,” replied the Templar, laughing. 
“Wed with a Jewess ! Despardieux ! — Not if she were 
the Queen of Sheba! And know, besides, sweet daughter 
of Zion, that were the most Christian king to offer me his 
most Christian daughter, with Languedoc for a dowry, I 
could not wed her. It is against my vow to love any 
maiden, otherwise than par amours, as I will love thee. 
I am a Templar. Behold the cross of my Holy Order.” 

“ Darest thou appeal to it,” said Rebecca, “ on an occa* 
sion like the present ? ” 

“And if I do so,” said the Templar, “it concerns not 
thee, who art no believer in the blessed sign of our 
salvation.” 

“ I believe as my fathers taught,” said Rebecca; “ and 
may G-od forgive my belief if erroneous! But you, Sir 
Knight, what is yours, when you appeal without scruple 
to that which you deem most holy, even while you are 
about to transgress the most solemn of your vows as a 
knight and as a man of religion ?” 

“ It is gravely and well preached, 0 daughter of 
Sirach! ” answered the Templar; “ but, gentle Ecclesi¬ 
astics, thy narrow Jewish prejudices make thee blind to 
our high privilege. Marriage were an enduring crime on 
the part of a Templar; but what lesser folly I may prac¬ 
tise, I shall speedily be absolved from at the next Pre- 
ceptory of our Order. Not the wisest of monarchs, not 
his father, whose examples you must .needs allow are 
weighty, claimed wider privileges than we poor soldiers 
of the Temple of Zion have won by our zeal in its de- 


IVANHOE. 239 

fence. The protectors of Solomon’s Temple may claim 
license by the example of Solomon.” 

“If thou readest the Scripture,” said the Jewess, “and 
the lives of the saints, only to justify thine own license 
and profligacy, thy crime is like that of him who extracts 
poison from the most healthful and necessary herbs.” 

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof. 
“ Hearken,” he said, “ Eebecca; I have hitherto spoken 
mildly to thee, but now my language shall be that of a 
conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow and spear, 
subject to my will by the law~s of all nations ; nor will I 
abate an inch of my right, or abstain from taking by vio¬ 
lence what thou refusest to entreaty or necessity.” 

“ Stand back,” said Eebecca, “ stand back, and hear 
me ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly! My 
strength thou mayst indeed overpower, for G-od made 
women weak, and trusted their defence to man’s gener¬ 
osity. But I will proclaim thy villainy, Templar, from 
one end of Europe to the other. I will owe to the super¬ 
stition of thy brethren what their compassion might refuse 
me. Each Preceptory — each Chapter of thy Order, shall 
learn that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned with a Jewess. 
Those who tremble not at thy crime will hold thee ac¬ 
cursed for having so far dishonoured the cross thou 
wearest as to follow a daughter of my people.” 

“ Thou art keen-witted, Jewess,” replied the Templar, 
well aware of the truth of what she spoke, and that the 
rules of his Order condemned in the most positive man¬ 
ner, and under high penalties, such intrigues as he now 
prosecuted, and that in some instances even degradation 
had followed upon it — “ thou art sharp-witted,” he said; 
“ but loud must be thy voice of complaint if it is heard 
beyond the iron walls of this castle ; within these, mur¬ 
murs, laments, appeals to justice, and screams for help die 
alike silent away. One thing only can save thee, Eebecca. 
Submit to thy fate, embrace our religion, and thou shalt 
go forth in such state that many a Norman lady shall 
yield as well in pomp as in beauty to the favourite of 
the best lance among the defenders of the Temple.” 

“ Submit to my fate ! ” said Eebecca; “ and, sacred 


240 


IVANHOE. 


Heaven! to what fate ? embrace thy religion! and what 
religion can it be that harbours such a villain ? — Thov. 
the best lance of the Templars ! Craven knight! — for¬ 
sworn priest! I spit at thee and I defy thee. — The 
God of Abraham’s promise hath opened an escape to his 
daughter —even from this abyss of infamy ! ” 

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which 
led to the bartisan, and in an instant after, stood on the 
very verge of the parapet, with not the slightest screen 
between her and the tremendous depth below. Unpre¬ 
pared for such a desperate effort, for she had hitherto 
stood perfectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert had neither 
time to intercept nor to stop her. As he offered to ad¬ 
vance, she exclaimed, “Remain where thou art, proud 
Templar, or at thy choice advance! — one foot nearer, 
and I plunge myself from the precipice; my body shall 
be crushed out of the very form of humanity upon the 
stones of that courtyard, ere it become the victim of thy 
brutality ! ” 

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended 
them towards heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul 
before she made the final plunge. The Templar hesi¬ 
tated, and a resolution which had never yielded to pity 
or distress gave way to his admiration of her fortitude. 
“ Come down,” he said, “ rash girl! — I swear by earth, 
and sea, and sky, I will offer thee no offence.” 

“ I will not trust thee, Templar,” said Rebecca; “ thou 
hast taught me better how to estimate the virtues of thine 
Order. The next Preceptory would grant thee absolution 
for an oath, the keeping of which concerned nought but the 
honour or the dishonour of a miserable Jewish maiden.” 

“You do me injustice,” exclaimed the Templar, fer¬ 
vently ; “ I swear to you by the name which I bear —• 
by the cross on my bosom — by the sw T ord on my side — 
by the ancient crest of my fathers do I swear, I will do 
thee no injury whatsoever! If not for thyself, yet for 
thy father’s sake forbear! I will be his friend, and in 
this castle he will need a powerful one.” 

“ Alas ! ” said Rebecca, “ I know it but too well. J)are 
t trust thee ? ” 


IVAN HOE. 


241 


“ May my arms be reversed and my name dishonoured/ 5 
said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ if thou shalt have reason 
to complain of me ! Many a law, many a commandment 
have I broken, but my word never.” 

“ I will then trust thee,” said Rebecca, “ thus far ”; 
and she descended from the verge of the battlement, but 
remained standing close by one of the embrasures, or 
machicolles, as they were then called. “Here,” she said, 
“ I take my stand. Remain where thou art, and if thou 
shalt attempt to diminish by one step the distance now 
between us, thou shalt see that the Jewish maiden will 
rather trust her soul with God than her honour to the 
Templar ! ” 

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, 
which corresponded so well with the expressive beauty 
of her countenance, gave to her looks, air, and manner a 
dignity that seemed more than mortal. Her glance 
quailed not, her cheek blanched not, for the fear of a fate 
so instant and so horrible; on the contrary, the thought 
that she had her fate at her command, and could escape at 
will from infamy to death, gave a yet deeper colour of car¬ 
nation to her complexion, and a yet more brilliant fire to 
her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud himself and high-spirited, 
thought he had never beheld beauty so animated and 
commanding. 

“ Let there be peace between us, Rebecca,” he said. 

“ Peace, if thou wilt,” answered Rebecca, “ peace — 
but with this space between.” 

“ Thou needst no longer fear me,” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“I fear thee not,” replied she, “thanks to him that 
reared this dizzy tower so high that nought could fall 
from it and live. Thanks to him, and to the God of 
Israel! I fear thee not.” 

“Thou dost me injustice,” said the Templar; “by 
earth, sea, and sky, thou dost me injustice ! I am not 
naturally that which you have seen me — hard, selfish, 
and relentless. It was woman that taught me cruelty, 
and on woman therefore I have exercised it; but not upon 
such as thou. Hear me, Rebecca. — Never did knight 
take lance in his hand with a heart more devoted to the 


242 


IVANHOE. 


lady of his love than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. She, the 
daughter of a petty baron, who boasted for all his domains 
but a rninons tower and an unproductive vineyard, and 
some few leagues of the barren Landes of Bourdeaux, 
her name was known wherever deeds of arms were done, 
known wider than that of many a lady’s that had a county 
for a dowry.—Yes,” he continued, pacing up and down 
the little platform, with an animation in which he seemed 
to lose all consciousness of Bebecca’s presence—“yes, 
my deeds, my danger, my blood made the name of Ade¬ 
laide de Montemare known from the court of Castile to 
that of Byzantium. And how was I requited ? When I 
returned with my dear-bought honours purchased by toil 
and blood, I found her wedded to a Gascon squire, whose 
name w r as never heard beyond the limits of his own pal¬ 
try domain! Truly did I love her, and bitterly did I re¬ 
venge me of her broken faith! But my vengeance has 
recoiled on myself. Since that day I have separated 
myself from life and its ties — My manhood must know 
no domestic home, must be soothed by no affectionate 
wife — My age must know no kindly hearth — My grave 
must.be solitary, and no offspring must outlive me, to 
bear the ancient name of Bois-Guilbert. At the feet of 
my Superior I have laid down the right of self-action — 
the privilege of independence. The Templar, a serf in 
all but the name, can possess neither lands nor goods, and 
lives, moves, and. breathes but at the will and pleasure of 
another.” 

“ Alas! ” said Bebecca, “ what advantages could com¬ 
pensate for such an absolute sacrifice ? ” 

“ The power of vengeance, Bebecca,” replied the Tem¬ 
plar, “ and the prospects of ambition.” 

“An evil recompense,” said Bebecca, “for the sur¬ 
render of the rights which are dearest to humanity.” 

“ Say not so, maiden,” answered the Templar; “ re¬ 
venge is a feast for the gods ! And if they have reserved 
it, as priests tell us, to themselves, it is because they hold 
it an enjoyment too precious for the possession of mere 
mortals. —And ambition! it is a temptation which could 
disturb even the bliss of Heaven itself.” — He paused a 


IVANHOE. 


243 


moment, and then added, “ Eebecca! she who could pre¬ 
fer death to dishonour must have a proud and a powerful 
soul. Mine thou must be!—Nay, start not,” he added, 
“ it must be with thine own consent, and on thine own 
terms. Thou must consent to share with me hopes more 
extended than can be viewed from the throne of a mon¬ 
arch ! Hear me ere you answer, and judge ere you refuse. 
The Templar loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his 
power of free agency, but he becomes a member and a 
limb of a mighty body, before which thrones already 
tremble — even as the single drop of rain which mixes 
with the sea becomes an individual part of that resistless 
ocean which undermines rocks and ingulphs royal arma¬ 
das. Such a swelling flood is that powerful league. Of 
this mighty Order I am no mean member, but already 
one of the Chief Commanders, and may well aspire one 
day to hold the batoon of Grand Master. The poor sob 
diers of the Temple will not alone place their foot upon 
the necks of kings — a hemp-sandalbd monk can do that. 
Our mailed step shall ascend their throne, our gauntlet 
shall wrench the sceptre from their gripe. Not the reign 
of your vainly-expected Messiah offers such power to your 
dispersed tribes as my ambition may aim at. I have 
sought but a kindred spirit to share it, and I have found 
such in thee.” 

“ Sayst thou this to one of my people ? ” answered 
Eebecca. “ Bethink thee-” 

“Answer me not,” said the Templar, “by urging the 
difference of our creeds ; within our secret conclaves we 
hold these nursery tales in derision. Think not we long 
remained blind to the idiotical folly of our founders, who 
forswore every delight of life for the pleasure of dying 
martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, and by 
the swords of savages, while they vainly strove to defend 
a barren desert, valuable only in the eyes of superstition. 
Our Order soon adopted bolder and wider views, and found 
out a better indemnification for our sacrifices. Our im¬ 
mense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our high 
military fame, which brings within our circle the flower 
of chivalry from every Christian clime — these are dedb 



244 


IVANHOE. 


cated to ends of which our pious founders little dreamed, 
and which are equally concealed from such weak spirits 
as embrace our Order on the ancient principles, and whose 
superstition makes them our passive tools. But I will 
not further withdraw the veil of our mysteries. That 
bugle-sound announces something which may require my 
presence. Think on what I have said. — Farewell — I 
do not say forgive me the violence I have threatened, for 
it was necessary to the display of thy character. Gold 
can be only known by the application of the touchstone. 
I will soon return, and hold further conference with 
thee.” 

He reentered the turret-chamber, and descended the 
stair, leaving Bebecca scarcely more terrified at the pros¬ 
pect of the death to which she had been so lately ex¬ 
posed, than at the furious ambition of the bold bad man 
in whose power she found herself so unhappily placed. 
When she entered the turret-chamber, her first duty was 
to return thanks to the God of Jacob for the protection 
which He had afforded her, and to implore its continu¬ 
ance for her and for her father. Another name glided 
into her petition; it was that of the wounded Christian, 
whom fate had placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, 
his avowed enemies. Her heart indeed checked her, as 
if, even in communir g with the Deity in prayer, she 
mingled in her devotions the recollection of one with 
whose fate hers could have no alliance — a Nazarene, 
and an enemy to her faith. But the petition was already 
breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices of her sect 
induce Bebecca to wish it recalled. 


CHAPTEB XXV. 

A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life! 
i She Stoops to Conquer. 

When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he 
found De Bracy already there. “ Your love-suit,” said 
De Bracy, “hath, I suppose, been disturbed, like mine, 



IVANHOE. 


245 


by this obstreperous summons. But you have come later 
and more reluctantly, and therefore I presume your in¬ 
terview has proved more agreeable than mine.” 

“Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the 
Saxon heiress ? ” said the Templar. 

“By the bones of Thomas a Becket,” answered Be 
Bracy, “ the Lady Bowena must have heard that I cannot 
endure the sight of women’s tears.” 

“ Away ! ” said the Templar; “ thou a leader of a Tree 
Company, and regard a woman’s fears! A few drops 
sprinkled on the torch of love make the flame blaze the 
brighter.” 

“ Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,” re¬ 
plied He Bracy ; “ but this damsel hath wept enough to 
extinguish a beacon-light. Never was such wringing of 
hands and such overflowing of eyes, since the days of St. 
Niobe, of whom Prior Aymer . told us. A water-fiend 
hath possessed the fair Saxon.” 

“A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of the 
Jewess,” replied the Templar; “for I think no single 
one, not even Apollyon himself, could have inspired 
such indomitable pride and resolution.—But where is 
Front-de-Boeuf ? That horn is sounded more and more 
clamorously.” 

“He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” replied 
He Bracy, coolly; “probably the howls of Isaac have 
drowned the blast of the bugle. Thou mayst know, by 
experience, Sir Brian, that a Jew parting with his treas¬ 
ures on such terms as our friend Front-de-Boeuf is like 
to offer will raise a clamour loud enough to be heard 
over twenty horns and trumpets to boot. But we will 
make the vassals call him.” 

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who 
had been disturbed in his tyrannic cruelty in the manner 
with which the reader is acquainted, and had only tar¬ 
ried to give some necessary directions. “Let us see the 
cause of this cursed clamour,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “here 
is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it is in Saxon.” 

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he 
had had really some hopes of coming at the meaning by 


246 


IVANEOF. 


inverting the position of the paper, and then handed it 
to De Bracy. 

“ It may be magic spells for aught I know,” said De 
Bracy, who possessed his full proportion of the igno¬ 
rance which characterised the chivalry of the period. 
“ Our chaplain attempted to teach me to write,” he said, 
“but all my letters were formed like spear-heads and 
sword-blades, and so the old shaveling gave up the task.” 

“ Give it me,” said the Templar. “We have that of 
the priestly character, that we have some knowledge to 
enlighten our valour.” 

“ Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, 
then,” said De Bracy ; “ what says the scroll ? ” 

“ It is a formal letter of defiance,” answered the 
Templar; “ but, by our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not 
a foolish jest, it is the most extraordinary cartel that 
ever was sent across the drawbridge of a baronial castle.” 

“Jest!” said Front-de-Boeuf, “I would gladly know 
who dares jest with me in such a matter. — Read it. Sir 
Brian.” 

The Templar accordingly read it as follows: 

“I, Wainba, the son of Witless, jester to a noble and freeborn 
man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon : and I, Gnrth, th€ 
son of Beowulph, the swineherd-” 

“Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the 
reader. 

“ By St. Luke, it is so set down,” answered the Templar. 
Then resuming his task, he went on, — 

“ I, Gnrth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the said Cedric, 
with the assistance of our allies and confederates, who make com¬ 
mon cause with us in this our feud, namely, the good knight, called 
for the present Le Noir Faineant , and the stout yeoman, Robert 
Locksley, called Cleave-the-Wand, to you, Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, 
and your allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas 
you have, without cause given or feud declared, wrongfully and 
by mastery seized upon the person of our lord and master the said 
Cedric ; also upon the person of a noble and freeborn damsel, the 
Lady Rowena of Hargottstandstede; also upon the person of a 
noble and freeborn man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; also upon 
the persons of certain freeborn men, their cnichts; also upon cer 



IVANHOE. 


247 


tain serfs, their born bondsmen ; also upon a certain Jew, named 
Isaac of York, together with his daughter, a Jewess, and certain 
horses and mules: which noble persons, with their cnichts and 
slaves, and also with the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess before- 
said, were all in peace with his Majesty, and travelling as liege 
subjects upon the king’s highway; therefore we require and demand 
that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of Rotherwood, Rowena 
of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, with their ser¬ 
vants, cnichts , and followers, also the horses and mules, Jew and 
Jewess aforesaid, together with all goods and chattels to them per¬ 
taining, be, within an hour after the delivery hereof, delivered to us, 
or to those whom we shall appoint to receive the same, and that un¬ 
touched and unharmed in body and goods. Railing of which, we 
do pronounce to you, that we hold ye as robbers and traitors, and 
will wager our bodies against ye in battle, siege, or otherwise, and 
do our utmost to your annoyance and destruction. Wherefore 
may God have you in His keeping. — Signed by us upon the eve of 
St. Withold’s day, under the great trysting oak in the Harthill 
Walk, the above being written by a holy man, clerk to God, our 
Lady, and St. Dunstan, in the chapel of Copmanhurst. ” 

At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the 
first place, a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with 
a legend expressing this hieroglyphic to be the sign- 
manual of Wamba, son of Witless. Under this respec¬ 
table emblem stood a cross, stated to be the mark of 
G-urth, the son of Beowulph. Then was written, in 
rough bold characters, the words Le Noir Faineant. 
And, to conclude the whole, an arrow, neatly enough 
drawn, was described as the mark of the yeoman 
Locksley. 

The knights heard this uncommon document read from 
end to end, and then gazed upon each other in silent 
amazement, as being utterly at a loss to know what it 
could portend. De Bracy was the first to break silence 
by an uncontrollable fit of laughter, wherein he was 
joined, though with more moderation, by the Templar. 
Front-de-Boeuf, on the contrary, seemed impatient of 
their ill-timed jocularity. 

“ I give you plain warning,” he said, “ fair sirs, that 
you had better consult how to bear yourselves undei 
these circumstances than give way to such misplaced 
merriment.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his 


248 


IVANHOE. 


late overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Templar; “ he is 
cowed at the very idea of a cartel, though it come but 
from a fool and a swineherd.” 

“ By St. Michael,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “ I would 
thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thy¬ 
self, De Bracy. These fellows dared not have acted with 
such inconceivable impudence, had they not been supported 
by some strong bands. There are enough of outlaws in 
this forest to resent my protecting the deer. I did but 
tie one fellow, who was taken red-handed and in the fact, 
to the horns of a wild stag, which gored him to death in 
five minutes, and I had as many arrows shot at me as there 
were launched against yonder target at Ashby. — Here, 
fellow,” he added, to one of his attendants, “ hast thou 
sent out to see by what force this precious challenge is to 
be supported ? ” 

“ There are at least two hundred men assembled in the 
woods,” answered the squire who was in attendance. 

“ Here is a proper matter! ” said Front-de-Boeuf; “ this 
comes of lending you the use of my castle, that cannot 
manage your undertaking quietly, but you must bring this 
nest of hornets about my ears ! ” 

“ Of hornets ! ” said De Bracy; “ of stingless drones 
rather; a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood and 
destroy the venison rather than labour for their mainte¬ 
nance ! ” 

“ Stingless ! ” replied Front-de-Boeuf; “ fork-headed 

shafts of a cloth-yard in length, and these shot within the 
breadth of a French crown, are sting enough.” 

“ For shame, Sir Knight! ” said the Templar. “Let us 
summon our people and sally forth upon them. One 
knight — ay, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty 
such peasants.” 

“ Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; “ I should 
only be ashamed to couch lance against them.” 

“ True,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “ were they black 
Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of 
France, most valiant De Bracy; but these are English yeo¬ 
men, over whom we shall have no advantage, save what 
we may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail 


IVANHOE. 


249 


us little in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou ? 
We have scarce men enough to defend the castle. The 
best of mine are at York; so is all your band, De Bracy; 
and we have scarcely twenty, besides the handful that 
were engaged in this mad business.” 

“ Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “ that they can 
assemble in force sufficient to attempt the castle ? ” 

“ Not so, Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Boeuf. “ These 
outlaws have indeed a daring captain; but without ma¬ 
chines, scaling ladders, and experienced leaders, my castle 
may defy them.” 

“ Send to thy neighbours,” said the Templar; “ let them 
assemble their people and come to the rescue of three 
knights, besieged by a jester and a swineherd in the baro¬ 
nial castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf! ” 

“You jest, Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but to 
whom should I send ? Malvoisin is by this time at York 
with his retainers, and so are my other allies; and so 
should I have been, but for this infernal enterprise.” 

“Then send to York and recall our people,” said De 
Bracy. “ If they abide the shaking of my standard, or 
the sight of my Free Companions, I will give them credit 
for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in greenwood.” 

“ And who shall bear such a message ? ” s^id Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ they will beset every path, and rip the errand out 
of his bosom. — I have it,” he added, after pausing for a 
moment. “ Sir Templar, thou canst write as well as read, 
and if we can but find the writing materials of my chaplain, 
who died a twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christ¬ 
mas carousals-” 

“ So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in attend¬ 
ance, “ I think old Urfried has them somewhere in keep¬ 
ing, for love of the confessor. He was the last man, I 
have heard her tell, who ever said aught to her which man 
ought in courtesy to address to maid or matron.” 

“ Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-Boeuf; 
“ and then, Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to 
this bold challenge.” 

«I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that 
of the pen,” said Bois-Guilbert; “but be it as you will.” 



250 


IVANHOE. 


He sat down accordingly, and indicted, in the French 
language, an epistle of the following tenor: 

“ Sir Keginald Front-de-Bceuf, with his noble and knightly allies 
and confederates, receive no defiances at the hands of slaves, 
bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person calling himself the Black 
Knight have indeed a claim to the honours of chivalry, he ought 
to know that he stands degraded by his present association, and 
has no right to ask reckoning at the hands of good men of noble 
blood. Touching the prisoners we have made, we do in Christian 
charity require you to send a man of religion to receive their con¬ 
fession and reconcile them with God ; since it is our fixed intention 
to execute them this morning before noon, so that their heads, 
being placed on the battlements, shall show to all men how lightly 
we esteem those who have bestirred themselves in their rescue. 
Wherefore, as above, we require you to send a priest to reconcile 
them to God, in doing which you shall render them the last earthly 
’ service.” 

This letter, being folded, was delivered to the squire, 
and by him to the messenger who waited without, as the 
answer to that which he had brought. 

The yeoman, having thus accomplished his mission, 
returned to the headquarters of the allies, which were for 
the present established under a venerable oak tree, about 
three arrow-flights distant from the castle. Here Wamba 
and G-urth, with their allies the Black Knight and Locks- 
ley, and the jovial hermit, awaited with impatience an 
answer to their summons. Around, and at a distance 
from them, were seen many a bold yeoman, whose silvan 
dress and weatherbeaten countenances showed the ordi¬ 
nary nature of their occupation. More than two hundred 
had already assembled, and others were fast coming in. 
Those whom they obeyed as leaders were only distin¬ 
guished from the others by a feather in the cap, their 
dress, arms, and equipments being in all other respects 
the same. 

Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse-armed 
force, consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of the neigh¬ 
bouring township, as well as many bondsmen and ser¬ 
vants from Cedric’s extensive estate, had already arrived, 
for the purpose of assisting in his rescue. Few of these 
were armed, otherwise than with such rustic weapons as 


IVAN HOE. 


251 


necessity sometimes converts to military purposes. Boar- 
spears, scythes, flails, and the like, were their chief arms; 
for the Normans, with the usual policy of conquerors, 
were jealous of permitting to the vanquished Saxons the 
possession or the use of swords and spears. These cir¬ 
cumstances rendered the assistance of the Saxons far 
from being so formidable to the besieged as the strength 
of the men themselves, their superior numbers, and the 
animation inspired by a just cause, might otherwise well 
have made thenfc It was to the leaders of this motley 
army that the letter of the Templar was now delivered. 

Reference was at first made to the chaplain for an ex¬ 
position of its contents. 

“ By the crook of St. Dunstan,” said that worthy eccle¬ 
siastic, “ which hath brought more sheep within the sheep- 
fold than the crook of e’er another saint in Paradise, I 
swear that I cannot expound unto you this jargon, which, 
whether it be French or Arabic, is beyond my guess.” 

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head 
gruflly, and passed it to Wamba. The Jester looked at 
each of the four corners of the paper with such a grin 
of affected intelligence as a monkey is apt to assume 
upon similar occasions, then cut a caper, and gave the 
letter to Locksley. 

“ If the long letters were bows, and the short letters 
broad arrows, I might know something of the matter,” 
said the brave yeoman; “ but as the matter stands, the 
meaning is as safe, for me, as the stag that’s at twelve 
miles’ distance.” 

“ I must be clerk, then,” <*aid the Black Knight; and 
taking the letter from Locksley, he first read it over to 
himself, and then explained the meaning in Saxon to his 
confederates. 

“Execute the noble Cedric ?” exclaimed Wamba; “by 
the rood, thou must be mistaken, Sir Knight.” 

“Not I, my worthy friend,” replied the knight, “I 
have explained the words as they are here set down.” 

“Then by St. Thomas of Canterbury,” replied Gurth, 
"we will have the castle, should we tear it down with 
our hands! ” 


252 


IVANHOE. 


“We have nothing else to tear it with/’ replied 
Wamba; “but mine are scarce lit to make mammocks 
of freestone and mortar.” 

“ ’Tis but a contrivance to gain time,” said Locksley; 
“ they dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fear¬ 
ful penalty.” 

“ I would,” said the Black Knight, “ there were some 
one among us who could obtain admission into the castle, 
and discover how the case stands with the besieged. Me- 
thinks, as they require a confessor to be sent, this holy 
hermit might at once exercise his pious vocation, and pro¬ 
cure us the information we desire.” 

“ A plague on thee and thy advice! ” said the pious 
hermit; “ I tell thee, Sir Slothful Knight, that when I 
doff my friar’s frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my 
very Latin, are put off along with it; and when in my 
green jerkin, I can better kill twenty deer than confess 
one Christian.” 

“I fear,” said the Black Knight — “I fear greatly 
there is no one here that is qualified to take upon him, 
for the nonce, this same character of father confessor ? ” 

All looked on each other, and were silent. 

“I see,” said Wamba, after a short pause, “that the 
fool must be still the fool, and put his neck in the ven¬ 
ture which wise men shrink from. You must know, my 
dear cousins and countrymen, that I wore russet before 
I wore motley, and was bred to be a friar, until a brain- 
fever came upon me and left me just enough wit to be a 
fool. I trust, with the assistance of the good hermit’s 
frock, together with the priesthood, sanctity, and learn¬ 
ing which are stitched into the cowl of it, I shall be found 
qualified to administer both worldly and ghostly comfort 
to our worthy master Cedric and his companions in ad¬ 
versity.” 

“Hath he sense enough, tliinkst thou?” said the 
Black Knight, addressing G-urth. 

“ I know not,” said Gurth; “ but if he hath not, it will 
be the first time he hath wanted wit to turn his folly to 
account.” 

“On with the frock, then, good fellow,” quoth the 


IVANHOE. 


253 


Knight, “and let thy master send us an account of 
their situation within the castle. Their numbers must 
be few, and it is five to one they may be accessible by a 
sudden and bold attack. Time wears — away with thee.” 

“ And, in the meantime,” said Locksley, “ we will be¬ 
set the place so closely that not so much as a fly shall 
carry news from thence. So that, my good friend,” he 
continued, addressing Wamba, “ thou mayst assure these 
tyrants that whatever violence they exercise on the per¬ 
sons of their prisoners shall be most severely repaid upon 
their own.” 

“Pax vobiscum ,” said Wamba, who was now muffled 
in his religious disguise. 

And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately de« 
portment of a friar, and departed to execute his mission. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

The hottest horse will oft be cool, 

The dullest will show fire ; 

The friar will often play the fool, 

The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song . 

When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the 
hermit, and having his knotted cord twisted round his 
middle, stood before the portal of the castle of Front- 
de-Boeuf, the warder demanded of him his name and 
errand. 

“Pax vobiscum ,” answered the Jester, “I am a poor 
brother of the Order of St. Francis, who come hither to 
do my office to certain unhappy prisoners now secured 
within this castle.” 

“Thou art a bold friar,” said the warder, “to come 
hither, where, saving our own drunken confessor, a cock 
of thy feather hath not crowed these twenty years.” 

« Yet I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the 
castle,” answered the pretended friar; “ trust me, it will 
find good acceptance with him, and the cock shall crow 
that the whole castle shall hear him.” 


254 


IVAN HOE. 


“ Gramercy,” said the warder; “ but if I come to shame 
for leaving my post upon thine errand, I will try whether 
a friar’s grey gown be proof against a grey-goose shaft.” 

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the 
hall of the castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy 
friar stood before the gate and demanded instant admis¬ 
sion. With no small wonder he received his master’s 
commands to admit the holy man immediately; and, 
having previously manned the entrance to guard against 
surprise, he obeyed, without further scruple, the com¬ 
mands which he had received. The hairbrained self- 
conceit which had emboldened Wamba to undertake this 
dangerous office was scarce sufficient to support him 
when he found himself in the presence of a man so dread¬ 
ful, and so much dreaded, as Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, 
and he brought out his Pax vobiscum, to which he, in a 
good measure, trusted for supporting his character, with 
more anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accom¬ 
panied it. But Front-de-Boeuf was accustomed to see 
men of all ranks tremble in his presence, so that the 
timidity of the supposed father did not give him any 
cause of suspicion. “ Who and whence art thou, priest ? ” 
said he. 

“Pax vobiscum” reiterated the Jester; “I am a poor 
servant of St. Francis, who, travelling through this wil¬ 
derness, have fallen among thieves as Scripture hath 
it — quidam viator incidit in latrones — which thieves 
have sent me unto this castle in order to do my ghostly 
office on two persons condemned by your honourable 
justice.” 

“ Ay, right,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “ and canst 
thou tell me, holy father, the number of those banditti?” 

“ Gallant sir,” answered the Jester, “nomen illis legio 
— their name is legion.” 

“ Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, 
priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the supposed friar, “ cor meum eructavit , 
that is to say, I was like to burst with fear! but I con¬ 
ceive they may be, what of yeomen, what of commons, 
at least five hundred men.” 


IVANHOE. 


255 


“ What! ” said the Templar, who came into the hall 
that moment, “ muster the wasps so thick here ? It is 
time to stifle such a mischievous brood.” Then taking 
Front-de-Boeuf aside, “ Knowest thou the priest ? ” 

“ He is a stranger from a distant convent,” said Front- 
de-Boeuf ; “ I know him not.” 

“ Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,” an¬ 
swered the Templar. “ Let him carry a written order to 
De Bracy’s company of Free Companions, to repair in¬ 
stantly to their master’s aid. In the meantime, and that 
the shaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to go 
freely about his task of preparing these Saxon hogs for 
the slaughter-house.” 

“ It shall be so,” said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forth¬ 
with appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba to the 
apartment where Cedric and Athelstane were confined. 

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced 
than diminished by his confinement. He walked from 
one end of the hall to the other, with the attitude of one 
who advances to charge an enemy, or to storm the breach 
of a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to himself, 
sometimes addressing Athelstane, who stoutly and stoi¬ 
cally awaited the issue of the adventure, digesting, in the 
meantime, with great composure, the liberal meal which 
he had made at noon, and not greatly interesting himself 
about the duration of his captivity, which he concluded 
would, like all earthly evils, find an end in Heaven’s 
good time. 

“Pax vobiscum,” said the Jester, entering the apart¬ 
ment; “the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Denis, St. Du- 
thoc, and all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and 
about ye.” 

“ Enter freely,” answered Cedric to the supposed friar; 
u with what intent art thou come hither ? ” 

“ To bid you prepare yourselves for death,” answered 
the Jester. 

“It is impossible!” replied Cedric, starting. “Fear¬ 
less and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such 
open and gratuitous cruelty! ” 

“Alas!” said the Jester, “to restrain them by theii 


256 


IVANHOE. 


sense of humanity is the same as to stop a runaway horse 
with a bridle of silk thread. Bethink thee, therefore, 
noble Cedric, and you also, gallant Athelstane, what 
crimes you have committed in the flesh; for this very 
day will ye be called to answer at a higher tribunal.” 

“Hearest thou this, Athelstane ? ” said Cedric. “We 
must rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better 
it is we should die like men than live like, slaves.” 

“I am ready,” answered Athelstane, “to stand the 
worst of their malice, and shall walk to my death with 
as much composure as ever I did to my dinner.” 

“ Let us, then, unto our holy gear, father,” said Cedric. 

“Wait yet a moment, good uncle,” said the Jester, in 
his natural tone; “better look long before you leap in 
the dark.” 

“ By my faith,” said Cedric, “ I should know that 
voice! ” 

“ It is that of your trusty slave and jester, ” answered 
Wamba, throwing back his cowl. “Had you taken a 
fool’s advice formerly, you would not have been here at 
all. Take a fool’s advice now, and you will not be here 
long.” 

“ How mean’st thou, knave ? ” answered the Saxon. 

“Even thus,” replied Wamba; “take thou this frock 
and cord, which are all the orders I ever had, and march 
quietly out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and 
girdle to take the long leap in thy stead.” 

“Leave thee in my stead!” said Cedric, astonished at 
the proposal; “ why, they would hang thee, my poor 
knave.” 

“E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said Wamba*, 
“I trust —no disparagement to your birth—that the 
son of Witless may hang in a chain with as much gravity 
as the chain hung upon his ancestor the alderman.” 

“Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “for one thing will I 
grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the ex¬ 
change of garments with Lord Athelstane instead of me.” 

“Ho, by St. Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “there were 
little reason in that. Good right there is that the son of 
Witless should suffer to save the son of Hereward; but 


IVAN HOE. 257 

little wisdom there were in his dying for the benefit of 
one whose fathers were strangers to his.” 

“ Villain,” said Cedric, “ the fathers of Athelstane were 
monarchs of England! ” 

“They might be whomsoever they pleased,” replied 
Wamba; “but. my neck stands too straight upon my 
shoulders to have it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, 
good my master, either take my proffer yourself or suffer 
me to leave this dungeon as free as I entered.” 

“Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “so the 
stately hope of the forest be preserved. Save the noble 
Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! it is the duty of each who 
has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide to¬ 
gether the utmost rage of our injurious oppressors, while 
he, free and safe, shall arouse the awakened spirits of our 
countrymen to avenge us.” 

“Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping his 
hand — for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and 
sentiments were not unbecoming his high race — “ not so,” 
he continued; “ I would rather remain in this hall a week 
without food save the prisoner’s stinted loaf, or drink 
save the prisoner’s measure of water, than embrace the 
opportunity to escape which the slave’s untaught kindness 
has purveyed for his master.” 

“You are called wise men, sirs,” said the Jester, “and 
I a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric and cousin Athelstane, 
the fool shall decide this controversy for ye, and save ye 
the trouble of straining courtesies any farther. I am like 
John-a-Duck’s mare, that will let no man mount her but 
John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he will 
not consent, basta! I can but go away home again. Kind 
service cannot be chucked from hand to hand like a 
shuttle-cock or stool-ball. I’ll hang for no man but my 
own born master.” 

“Go, then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane, “neglect not 
this opportunity. Your presence without may encourage 
friends to our rescue; your remaining here would ruin us 
all.” 

“'And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from with¬ 
out ? ” said Cedric, looking to the Jester. 


258 


IVANHOE. 


“ Prospect, indeed !” echoed Wamba; “let me tell you, 
when you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a general’s 
cassock. Five hundred men are there without, and I 
was this morning one of their chief leaders. My fooPs 
cap was a casque, and my bauble a truncheon. Well, we 
shall see what good they will make by exchanging a fool 
for a wise man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valour 
what they may gain in discretion. And so farewell, 
master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; 
and let my cockscomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood, in 
memory that I flung away my life for my master, like a 
faithful—fool. ” The last word came out with a sort of 
double expression, betwixt jest and earnest. 

The tears stood in Cedric’s eyes. “Thy memory shall 
be preserved,” he said, “while fidelity and affection have 
honour upon earth! But that I trust I shall find the 
means of saving Rowena, and thee, x4thelstane, and thee 
also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear me in 
this matter.” 

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a 
sudden doubt struck Cedric. 

“I know no language,” he said, “but my own, and a 
few words of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear 
myself like a reverend brother ? ” 

“The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba. “Pax 
vobiscum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat 
or drink, bless or ban, Pax vobiscum carries you through 
it all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch, 
or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep 
grave tone — Pax vobiscum —it is irresistible. Watch 
and ward, knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a 
charm upon them all. I think, if they bring me out to 
be hanged to-morrow, as is much to be doubted they may, 
I will try its weight upon the finisher of the sentence.” 

“If such prove the case,” said his master, “my religious 
orders are soon taken — Pax vobiscum. I trust I shall 
remember the password. — Noble Athelstane, farewell; 
and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make 
amends for a weaker head; I will save you, or return and 
die with you. The royal blood of our Saxon kings shall 


IYANHOE. 


25£ 


not be spilt while mine beats in my veins; nor shall one 
hair fall from the head of the kind knave who risked 
himself for his master, if Cedric’s peril can prevent it.— 
Farewell.” 

“Farewell, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane; “remember, 
it is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you 
are offered any.” 

“Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; “and remember Pact 
vobiscum. ” 

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; 
and it was not long ere he had occasion to try the force 
of that spell which his Jester had recommended as omnip. 
otent. In a low-arched and dusky passage, by which he 
endeavoured to work his way to the hall of the castle, 
he was interrupted by a female form. 

“Pax vobiscum!” said the pseudo friar, and was en¬ 
deavouring to hurry past, when a soft voice replied, “ Et 
vobis ; quceso , domine reverendissime, pro misericordio 
vestra.” 

“ I am somewhat deaf, ” replied Cedric, in good Saxon, 
and at the same time muttered to himself, “A curse on 
the fool and his Pax vobiscum! I have lost my javelin 
at the first cast.” 

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those 
days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the person whc 
now addressed Cedric knew full well. 

“I pray you of dear love, reverend father,” she replied 
in his own language, “that you will deign to visit with 
your ghostly comfort a wounded prisoner of this castle, 
and have such compassion upon him and us as thy holy 
office teaches.—Never shall good deed so highly ad¬ 
vantage thy convent.” 

“Daughter,” answered Cedric, much embarrassed, “my 
time in this castle will not permit me to exercise the 
duties of mine office. I must presently forth — there is 
life and death upon my speed.” 

“ Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have 
taken on you,” replied the suppliant, “not to leave the 
oppressed and endangered without counsel or succour.” 

“ May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in Ifria 


. 260 


IVANHOE. 


with the souls of Odin and of Thor! ” answered Cedric, im- 
patiently, and would probably have proceeded in the same 
tone of total departure from his spiritual character, when 
the colloquy was interrupted by the harsh voice of Urfried, 
the old crone of the turret. 

“How, minion,” said she to the female speaker, “is 
this the manner in which you requite the kindness which 
permitted thee to leave thy prison-cell yonder?—Puttest 
thou the reverend man to use ungracious language to free 
himself from the importunities of a Jewess ?” 

“A Jewess!” said Cedric, availing himself of the in¬ 
formation to get clear of their interruption. “Let me 
pass, woman! stop me not at your peril. I am fresh from 
my holy office, and would avoid pollution.” 

“Come this way, father,” said the old hag, “thou art a 
stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it without a 
guide. Come thither, for I would speak with thee.— And 
you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sick man’s 
chamber, and tend him until my return; and woe betide 
you if you again quit it without my permission! ” 

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed 
upon Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried 
had employed her services where she herself would most 
gladly have paid them, by the bedside of the wounded 
Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake to their danger¬ 
ous situation, and prompt to avail herself of each means 
of safety which occurred, Rebecca had hoped something 
from the presence of a man of religion, who, she learned 
from Urfried, had penetrated into this godless castle. 
She watched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic, with 
the purpose of addressing him, and interesting him in 
favour of the prisoners; with what imperfect success the 
reader has been just acquainted. 


rVANHOE. 


26 J 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate. 

But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin ? 

Thy deeds are proved — thou know’st thy fate; 

But come, thy tale! begin — begin. 

But I have griefs of other kind, 

Troubles and sorrows more severe; 

Give me to ease my tortured mind, 

Lend to my woes a patient ear; 

And let me, if I may not find 
A friend to help, find one to hear. 

Crabbe’s Hall of Justice. 

When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven 
Rebecca back to the apartment from which she had sallied, 
she proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a 
small apartment, the door of which she heedfully secured. 
Then fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two 
flagons, she placed them on the table, and said in a tone 
rather asserting a fact than asking a question, “ Thou art 
Saxon, father. Deny it not,” she continued, observing 
that Cedric hastened not to reply; “the sounds of my 
native language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom 
heard save from the tongues of the wretched and de¬ 
graded serfs on whom the proud Hormans impose the 
meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a Saxon, 
father — a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of God, 
a freeman.— Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.” 

“ Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then ? ” replied 
Cedric; “ it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the out¬ 
cast and oppressed children of the soil.” 

“ They come not — or if they come, they better love to 
revel at the boards of their conquerors,” answered Urfried, 
“than to hear the groans of their countrymen; so, at least, 
report speaks of them, of myself I can say little. This 
castle, for ten years, has opened to no priests save the de¬ 
bauched Xorman chaplain who partook the nightly revels 
of Front-de-Boeuf, and he has been long gone to render 
an account of his stewardship.— But thou art a Saxon 
— a Saxon priest, and I have one question to ask of thee.” 


262 


IVAN HOE. 


“ I am a Saxon,” answered Cedric, “ but unworthy, 
surely, of the name of priest. Let me begone on my 
way, — I swear I will return, or send one of our fathers 
more worthy to hear your confession.” 

“Stay yet a while,” said Urfried; “the accents of the 
voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked with 
the cold earth, and I would not descend to it like the 
beast I have lived. But wine must give me strength to 
tell the horrors of my tale.” She poured out a cup, and 
drank it with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous 
of draining the last drop in the goblet. “ It stupefies,” 
she said, looking upwards as she finished her draught, 
“ but it cannot cheer. Partake it, father, if you would 
hear my tale without _ sinking down upon the pavement.” 
Cedric would have avoided pledging her in this ominous 
conviviality, but the sign which she made to him ex¬ 
pressed impatience and despair. He complied with her 
request, and answered her challenge in a large wine-cup ; 
she then proceeded with her story, as if appeased by his 
complaisance. 

“ I was not born,” she said, “ father, the wretch that 
thou now seest me. I was free, was happy, was hon¬ 
oured, loved, and was beloved. I am now a slave, 
miserable and degraded, the sport of my masters’ pas¬ 
sions while I had yet beauty, the object of their contempt, 
scorn, and hatred, since it has passed away. Dost thou 
wonder, father, that I should hate mankind, and, above 
all, the race that has wrought this change in me ? Can 
the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must 
vent itself in impotent curves, forget she was once the 
daughter of the noble thane of Torquilstone, before 
whose frown a thousand vassals trembled ? ” 

“ Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolf ganger! ” said 
Cedric, receding as he spoke; “thou — thou—the 
daughter of that noble Saxon, my father’s friend and 
companion in arms ! ” 

“Thy father’s friend! ” echoed Urfried; “then Cedric 
called the Saxon stands before me, for the noble Here- 
ward of Rotherwood had but one son, whose name is well 
known among his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric of 


IV AN HOE. 


263 


Rotherwood, why this religious dress? — hast thou, too, 
despaired of saving thy country, and sought refuge from 
oppression in the shade of the convent ? ” 

“It matters not who I am,” said Cedric*? “proceed, un¬ 
happy woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt! Guilt 
there must be — there is guilt even in thy living to tell it.” 

“ There is — there is,” answered the wretched woman, 
“ deep, black, damning guilt — guilt that lies like a load 
at my breast—guilt that all the penitential fires of here¬ 
after cannot cleanse. Yes, in these halls, stained with 
the noble and pure blood of my father and my brethren 
— in these very halls, to have, lived the paramour of 
their murderer, the slave at once and the partaker of his 
pleasures, was to render every breath which I drew of 
vital air, a crime and a curse.” 

“ Wretched woman ! ” exclaimed Cedric. “ And while 
the friends of thy father— while each true Saxon heart, 
as it breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of his 
valiant sons, forgot not in their prayers the murdered 
Ulrica — while all mourned and honoured the dead, thou 
hast lived to merit our hate and execration — lived to 
unite thyself with the vile tyrant who murdered thy 
nearest and dearest, who shed the blood of infancy rather 
than a male of the noble house of Torquil Wolfganger 
should survive — with him thou hast lived to unite thy¬ 
self, and in the bands of lawless love! ” 

“ In lawless bands, indeed, but not in those of love ! ” 
answered the hag; “ love will sooner visit the regions of 
eternal doom than those unhallowed vaults. No; with 
that at least I cannot reproach myself; hatred to Front- 
de-Boeuf and his race governed my soul most deeply, 
even in the hour of his guilty endearments.” 

“ You hated him, and yet you lived,” replied Cedric ; 
“ wretch! was there no poniard — no knife — no bodkin ! 
Well was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an exist¬ 
ence, that the secrets of a Norman castle are like those of 
the grave. For had I but dreamed of the daughter of 
Torquil living in foul communion with the murderer 
of her father, the sword of a true Saxon had found thee 
out even in the arms of thy paramour! ” 


264 


IVANHOE. 


“Wouldst tlion indeed have done this justice to the 
name of Torqnil ? ” said Ulrica, for we may now lay 
aside her assumed name of Urfried; “thou art then the 
true Saxon report speaks thee! for even within these 
accursed walls, where, as thou well sayest, guilt shrouds 
itself in inscrutable mystery — even there has the name 
of Cedric been sounded—and I, wretched and degraded, 
have rejoiced to think that there yet breathed an avenger 
of our unhappy nation. I also have had my hours of 
vengeance — I have fomented the quarrels of our foes, and 
heated drunken revelry into murderous broil, — I have 
seen their blood flow — I have heard their dying groans! 
Look on me, Cedric; are there not still left on this foul 
and faded face some traces of the features of Torquil ? ” 
“ Ask me not of them, Ulrica; ” replied Cedric, in a 
tone of grief mixed with abhorrence ; “ these traces form 
such a resemblance as arises from the grave of the dead 
when a fiend has animated the lifeless corpse.” 

“ Be it so,” answered Ulrica; “ yet wore these fiendish 
features the mask of a spirit of light when they were able 
to set at variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf and his son 
Reginald ! The darkness of hell should hide what fol¬ 
lowed, but revenge must lift the veil, and darkly inti¬ 
mate what it would raise the dead to speak aloud. Long 
had the smouldering fire of discord glowed between the 
tyrant father and his savage son — long had I nursed, in 
secret, the unnatural hatred; it blazed forth in an hour 
of drunken wassail, and at his own board fell my op¬ 
pressor by the hand of his own son — such are the secrets 
these vaults conceal! Rend asunder, ye accursed arches,” 
she added, looking up towards the roof, “and bury in 
your fall all who are conscious of the hideous mystery ! ” 
“ And thou, creature of guilt and misery,” said Cedric, 
“ what became thy lot on the death of thy ravisher ? ” 

“ Guess it, but ask it not. Here — here I dwelt, till 
age, premature age, has stamped its ghastly features on 
my countenance — scorned and insulted where I was 
once obeyed, and compelled to bound the revenge which 
had once such ample scope to the efforts of petty malice 
of a discontented menial, or the vain or unheeded curses 


IVANHOE. 


265 


of an impotent hag — condemned to hear from my lonely 
turret the sounds of revelry in which I once partook, or 
the shrieks and groans of new victims of oppression.” 

“ Ulrica,” said Cedric, “ with a heart which still, I fear, 
regrets the lost reward of thy crimes, as much as the 
deeds by which thou didst acquire that meed, how didst 
thou dare to address thee to one who wears this robe ? 
Consider, unhappy woman, what could the sainted Ed¬ 
ward himself do for thee, were he here in bodily 
presence ? The royal Confessor was endowed by 
Heaven with power to cleanse the ulcers of the body; 
but only God Himself can cure the leprosy of the soul.” 

“ Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,” she 
exclaimed, “ but tell me, if thou canst, in what shall ter¬ 
minate these new and awful feelings that burst on my 
solitude. Why do deeds, long since done, rise before me 
in new and irresistible horrors ? What fate is prepared 
beyond the grave for her to whom God has assigned 
on earth a lot of such unspeakable wretchedness ? 
Better had I turn to Woden, Hertha, and Zernebock, — 
to Mista, and to Skogula, the gods of our yet unbaptized 
ancestors, than endure the dreadful anticipations which 
have of late haunted my waking and my sleeping hours! ” 
“ I am no priest,” said Cedric, turning with disgust from 
this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness, and despair; 
“ I am no priest, though I wear a priest’s garment.” 

“Priest or layman,” answered Ulrica, “thou art the 
first I have seen for twenty years by whom God was 
feared or man regarded ; and dost thou bid me despair ? ” 
“I bid thee repent,” said Cedric. “Seek to prayer 
and penance, and mayest thou find acceptance! But I 
cannot, I will not, longer abide with thee.” 

“Stay yet a moment!” said Ulrica; “leave me not 
now, son of my father’s friend, lest the demon who has 
governed my life should tempt me to avenge myself of 
thy hard-hearted scorn. Thinkest thou, if Front-de- 
Boeuf found Cedric the Saxon in his castle, in such a 
disguise, that thy life would be a long one ? Already 
his eye has been upon thee like a falcon on his prey.” 
“And be it so,” said Cedric; “and let him tear me 


266 


IVAN HOE. 


with beak and talons, ere my tongue say one word which 
my heart doth not warrant. I will die a Saxon — true in 
word, open in deed — I bid thee avaunt! — touch me not, 
stay me not! The sight of Front-de-Boeuf himself is less 
odious to me than thou, degraded and degenerate as thou 
art.” 

“ Be it so,” said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him; 
“ go thy way, and forget, in the insolence of thy superi¬ 
ority, that the wretch before thee is the daughter of thy 
father’s friend. Go thy way — if I am separated from 
mankind by my sufferings — separated from those whose 
aid I might most justly expect — not less will I be 
separated from them in my revenge! No man shall aid 
me, but the ears of all men shall tingle to hear of the 
deed which I shall dare to do! — Farewell! — thy scorn 
has burst the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to 
my kind — a thought that my woes might claim the 
compassion of my people.” 

“ Ulrica,” said Cedric, softened by this appeal, “hast 
thou borne up and endured to live through so much guilt 
and so much misery, and wilt thou now yield to despair 
when thine eyes are opened to thy crimes, and when re¬ 
pentance were thy fitter occupation ? ” 

“ Cedric,” answered Ulrica, “ thou little knowest the 
human heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I have 
thought, requires the maddening love of pleasure, mingled, 
with the keen appetite of revenge, the proud conscious¬ 
ness of power — draughts too intoxicating for the human 
heart to bear, and yet retain the power to prevent. Their 
force has long passed away. Age has no pleasures, 
wrinkles have no influence, revenge itself dies away in 
impotent curses. Then comes remorse, with all its vipers, 
mixed with vain regrets for the past, and despair for the 
future! — Then, when all other strong impulses have 
ceased, we become like the fiends in hell, who may feel 
remorse, but never repentance. — But thy words have 
awakened a new soul within me. — Well hast thou said, 
all is possible for those who dare to die! Thou hast 
shown me the means of revenge, and be assured I will 
embrace them. It has hitherto shared this wasted bosom 


IVANHOE. 


267 


with other and with rival passions — henceforward it 
shall possess me wholly, and thou thyself shalt say that, 
whatever was the life of Ulrica, her death well became 
the daughter of the noble Torquil. There is a force 
without beleaguering this accursed castle — hasten to lead 
them to the attack, and when thou shalt see a red flag 
wave from the turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, 
press the Normans hard — they will then have enough to 
do within, and you may win the wall in spite both of bow 
and mangonel. Begone, I pray thee; follow thine own 
fate, and leave me to mine.” 

Cedric would have inquired farther into the purpose 
which she thus darkly announced, but the stern voice of 
Front-de-Boeuf was heard exclaiming, “ Where tarries this 
loitering priest ? By the scallop-shell of Compostella, I 
will make a martyr of him, if he loiters here to hatch 
treason among my domestics ! ” 

“ What a true prophet,” said Ulrica, “ is an evil con¬ 
science! But heed him not—out and to thy people — cry 
your Saxon onslaught; and let them sing their war-song 
of Hollo, if they will; vengeance shall bear a burden to it.” 

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private door, 
and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf entered the apartment. 
Cedric, with some difficulty, compelled himself to make 
obeisance to the haughty Baron, who returned his cour¬ 
tesy with a slight inclination of the head. 

“ Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift — it is 
the better for them, since it is the last they shall ever 
make. Hast thou prepared them for death ? ” 

“ I found them,” said Cedric, in such French as he 
could command, “ expecting the worst, from the moment 
they knew into whose power they had fallen.” 

“How now, Sir Friar,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “ thy 
speech, methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue ? ” 

“ I was bred in the convent of St. Withold of Burton,” 
answered Cedric. 

“ Ay ? ” said the Baron; “it had been better for thee 
to have been a Norman, and better for my purpose too, 
but need has no choice of messengers. That St. Withold’s 
of Burton is a howlet’s nest worth the harrying. The day 


268 


IVANHOE. 


will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon as 
little as the mail-coat.” 

“ God’s will be done,” said Cedric, in a voice tremulous 
with passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear. 

“ I see,” said he, “ thou dreamest already that our men- 
at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do 
me one cast of thy holy office, and, come what list of 
others, thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail 
within his shell of proof.” 

u Speak your commands,” said Cedric, with suppressed 
emotion. 

“Follow me through this passage, then, that I may 
dismiss thee by the postern.” 

And as he strode on his way before the supposed friar, 
Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he 
desired he should act. 

“ Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, who 
have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. — Tell 
them whatever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this 
fortalice, or aught else that can detain them before it 
for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear thou this scroll. 
But soft — canst read, Sir Priest ? ” 

“ Not a jot I,” answered Cedric, “ save on my breviary; 
and then I know the characters, because I have the holy 
service by heart, praised be Our Lady and St. Withold ! ” 

“ The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou 
this scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin; say it 
cometh from me, and is written by the Templar Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to York 
with all the speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, 
tell him to doubt nothing, he shall find us whole and 
sound behind our battlement. — Shame on it, that we 
should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of runagates, 
who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons and 
the tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive 
some cast of thine art to keep the knaves where they 
are, until our friends bring up their lances. My ven¬ 
geance is awake, and she is a falcon that slumbers not 
till she has been gorged.” 

“ By my patron saint,” said Cedric, with deeper energy 


IVAN HOE. 


269 


than became his character, “ and by every saint who has 
lived and died in England, your commands shall be 
obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir from before these walls, 
if I have art and influence to detain them there.” 

“Ha!” said Front-de-Bceuf, “thou changest thy tone, 
Sir Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if thy hear* 
were in the slaughter of the Saxon herd; and yet thou 
art thyself of kindred to the swine ? ” 

Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimu¬ 
lation, and would at this moment have been much the 
better of a hint from Wamba’s more fertile brain. But 
necessity, according to the ancient proverb, sharpens in¬ 
vention, and he muttered something under his cowl con¬ 
cerning the men in question being excommunicated out¬ 
laws both to church and to kingdom. 

“ Despardieux” answered Eront-de-Boeuf, “thou hast 
spoken the very truth — I forgot that the knaves can 
strip a fat abbot as well as if they had been born south 
of yonder salt channel. Was it not he of St. Ives whom 
they tied to an oak tree, and compelled to sing a mass 
while they were rifling his mails and his wallets ? — No, 
by Our Lady, that jest was played by Gualtier of Middle- 
ton, one of our own companions-at-arms. But they were 
Saxons who robbed the chapel at St. Bees of cup, candle¬ 
stick, and chalice, were they not ? ” 

“ They were godless men,” answered Cedric. 

“Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale 
that lay in store for many a secret carousal, when ye 
pretend ye are but busied with vigils and primes! — 
Priest, thou art bound to revenge such sacrilege.” 

“ I am indeed bound to vengeance,” murmured Cedric; 
“ St. Withold knows my heart.” 

Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a 
postern, where, passing the moat on a single plank, they 
reached a small barbican, or exterior defence, which com¬ 
municated with the open field by a well-fortified sally-port. 

“ Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and 
if thou return hither when it is done, thou shalt see 
Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog’s in the shambles of 
Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemest to be a jolly 


270 


IVANHOE. 


confessor — come hither after the onslaught, and thou 
shalt have as much Malvoisie as would drench thy whole 
convent.” 

“ Assuredly we shall meet again,” answered Cedric. 

“ Something in hand the whilst,” continued the Nor¬ 
man; and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust 
into Cedric’s reluctant hand a gold byzant, adding, 
“ Bemember, I will flay off both cowl and skin if thou 
failest in thy purpose.” 

“ And full leave will I give thee to do both,” answered 
Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding forth over the 
free field with a joyful step, “if, when we meet next, 
I deserve not better at thine hand.” — Turning then 
back towards the castle, he threw the piece of gold 
towards the donor, exclaiming at the same time, “ False 
Norman, thy money perish with thee ! ” 

Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the 
action was suspicious. “Archers,” he called to the 
warders on the outward battlements; “send me an 
arrow through yon monk’s frock! — Yet stay,” he said, 
as his retainers were bending their bows, “it avails not 
— we must thus far trust him since we have no better 
shift. I think he dares not betray me; at the worst I 
can but treat with these Saxon dogs whom I have safe 
in kennel. Ho! Giles jailor, let them bring Cedric of 
Botherwood before me, and the other churl, his com¬ 
panion— him I mean of Coningsburgh — Athelstane 
there, or what call they him? Their very names are an 
encumbrance to a Norman knight’s mouth, and have, as 
it were, a flavour of bacon. Give me a stoup of wine, as 
jolly Prince John said, that I may wash away the relish; 
place it in the armoury, and thither lead the prisoners.” 

His commands were obeyed; and upon entering that 
Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils won by his 
own valour and that of his father, he found a flagon of 
wine on the massive oaken table, and the two Saxon 
captives under the guard of four of his dependants. 
Front-de-Boeuf took a long draught of wine, and then 
addressed his prisoners; — for the manner in which 
Wamba drew the cap over his face, the change of dress, 


IVANHOE. 


271 


the gloomy and broken light, and the Baron’s imperfect 
acquaintance with the features of Cedric, who avoided 
his Norman neighbours, and seldom stirred beyond his 
own domains, prevented him from discovering that the 
most important of his captives had made his escape. 

“Gallants of England,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “how 
relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone ? Are ye 
yet aware what your surquedy and outrecuidance merit, for 
scoffing at the entertainment of a prince of the house of 
Anjou? — Have ye forgotten how ye requited the 
unmerited hospitality of the royal John ? By God and 
St. Denis, an ye pay not the richer ransom, I will hang 
ye up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows, 
till the kites and hooded crows have made skeletons of 
you! Speak out, ye Saxon dogs — what bid ye for you* 
worthless lives ? How say you, you of Rotherwood ? ” 

“Not a doit I,” answered poor Wamba; “and for 
hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy, 
they say, ever since the biggin was bound first round 
my head ; so turning me upside down may peradventure 
restore it again.” 

“ St. Genevieve ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ what have we 
got here ? ” 

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric’s cap 
from the head of the Jester, and throwing open his 
collar, discovered the fatal badge of servitude, the 
silver collar round his neck. 

“ Giles — Clement — dogs and varlets ! ” exclaimed 
the furious Norman, “what have you brought me 
here ? ” 

“I think I can tell you,” said De Bracy, who just 
entered the apartment. “This is Cedric’s clown, who 
fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac of York about a 
question of precedence.” 

“I shall settle it for them both,” replied Front-de- 
Boeuf; “they shall hang on the same gallows, unless 
his master and this boar of Coningsburgh will pay well 
for their lives. Their wealth is the least they can 
surrender; they must also carry off with them the 
swarms that are besetting the castle, subscribe a sur- 


272 


IVANHOE. 


render of their pretended immunities, and live under ns 
as serfs and vassals; too happy if, in the new world that 
is about to begin, we leave them the breath of their nos¬ 
trils.— Go,” said he to two of his attendants, “fetch me 
the right Cedric hither, and I pardon your error for 
once; the rather that you but mistook a fool for a Saxon 
franklin.” 

“Ay, but,” said Wamba, “your chivalrous excellency 
will find there are more fools than franklins among 
us.” 

“What means the knave?” said Front-de-Boeuf, look¬ 
ing towards his followers, who, lingering and loth, fal¬ 
tered forth their belief that, if this were not Cedric who 
was there in presence, they knew not what was become 
of him. 

“ Saints of Heaven! ” exclaimed De Bracy, “ he must 
have escaped in the monk’s garments ! ” 

“ Fiends of hell! ” echoed Front-de-Boeuf, “ it was then 
the boar of Rotherwood whom I ushered to the postern, 
and dismissed with my own hands ! — And thou,” he said 
to Wamba, “whose folly could overreach the wisdom of 
idiots yet more gross than thyself — I will give thee holy 
orders — I will shave thy crown for thee ! — Here, let 
them tear the scalp from his head, and then pitch him 
headlong from the battlements — Thy trade is to jest, 
canst thou jest now ?” 

“You deal with me better than your word, noble 
knight,” whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits 
of buffoonery were not to be overcome even by the im¬ 
mediate prospect of death; “ if you give me the red cap 
you propose, out of a simple monk you will make a 
cardinal.” 

“ The poor wretch,” said De Bracy, “ is resolved to die 
in his vocation. — Front-de-Boeuf, you shall not slay him. 
Give him to me to make sport for my Free Companions. 
— How sayst thou, knave? Wilt thou take heart of 
grace, and go to the wars with me ? ” 

“Ay, with my master’s leave,” said Wamba; “for, 
look you, I must not slip collar (and he touched that 
which he wore) without his permission.” 


IVANHGE. 273 

“ Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar,” said 
De Bracy. 

“ Ay, noble sir,” said Wamba, “and thence goes the 
proverb: 


Norman saw on English oak, 

On English neck a Norman yoke 
Norman spoon in English dish, 

And England ruled as Normans wish ; 

Blythe world to England never will he more, 

Till England’s rid of all the four.” 

“ Thou dost well, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ to 
stand there listening to a fool’s jargon, when destruction 
is gaping for us! Seest thou not we are overreached, 
and that our proposed mode of communicating with our 
friends without has been disconcerted by this same mot¬ 
ley gentleman thou art so fond to brother ? What views 
have we to expect but instant storm ? ” 

“To the battlements then,” said De Bracy; “when 
didst thou ever see me the graver for the thoughts of 
battle ? Call the Templar yonder, and let him fight but 
half so well for his life as he has done for his Order — 
Make thou to the walls thyself with thy huge body — Let 
me do my poor endeavour in my own way, and I tell thee 
the Saxon outlaws may as well attempt to scale the clouds 
as the castle of Torquilstone; or, if you will treat with 
the banditti, why not employ the mediation of this worthy 
franklin, who seems in such deep contemplation of the 
wine-flagon ? — Here, Saxon,” he continued, addressing 
Athelstane, and handing the cup to him, “ rinse thy throat 
with that noble liquor, and rouse up thy soul to say what 
thou wilt do for thy liberty.” 

“What a man of mould may,” answered Athelstane, 
“ providing it be what a man of manhood ought. — Dis^ 
miss me free, with my companions, and I will pay a 
ransom of a thousand marks.” 

“ And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum 
of mankind who are swarming around the castle, con¬ 
trary to God’s peace and the king’s ? ” said Front-de- 
BoeuL 

T 


274 


IVANHOE. 


“In so far as I can,” answered Athelstane, “I will 
withdraw them ; and I fear not but that my father Cedric 
will do his best to assist me.” 

“ We are agreed then,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “thou and 
they are to be set at freedom, and peace is to be on both 
sides, for payment of a thousand marks. It is a trifling 
ransom, Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude to the mod¬ 
eration which accepts of it in exchange of your persons. 
But mark, this extends not to the Jew Isaac.” 

“ Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter,” said the Templar, 
who had now joined them. 

“ Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “belong to this Saxon’s 
company.” 

“ I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did,” 
replied Athelstane; “ deal with the unbelievers as ye 
list.” 

“ Neither does the ransom include the Lady Rowena,” 
said De Bracy. “ It shall never be said I was scared out 
of a fair prize without striking a blow for it.” 

“Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “does our treaty refer 
to this wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I may make 
him an example to every knave who turns jest into 
earnest.” 

“ The Lady Rowena,” answered Athelstane, with the 
most steady countenance, “ is my affianced bride. I will 
be drawn by wild horses before I consent to part with 
her. The slave Wamba has this day saved the life of 
my father Cedric. I will lose mine, ere a hair of his head 
be injured.” 

“ Thy affianced bride! — The Lady Rowena the affi¬ 
anced bride of a vassal like thee!” said De Bracy. 
“ Saxon, thou dreamest that the days of thy seven king¬ 
doms are returned again. I tell thee, the princes of the 
house of Anjou confer not their wards on men of such 
lineage as thine.” 

“ My lineage, proud Norman,” replied Athelstane, “is 
drawn from a source more pure and ancient than that of 
a beggarly Frenchman, whose living is won by selling 
the blood of the thieves whom he assembles under his 
paltry standard. Kings were my ancestors, strong in 


IVANHOE. 


275 


war, and wise in council, who every day feasted in their 
hall more hundreds than thou canst number individual 
followers; whose names have been sung by minstrels, 
and their laws recorded by Witenagemotes; whose bones 
were interred amid the prayers of saints, and over whose 
tombs minsters have been builded.” 

“Thou hast it, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, well 
pleased with the rebuff which his companion had re¬ 
ceived ; “ the Saxon hath hit thee fairly.” 

“As fairly as a captive can strike,” said De Bracy, 
with apparent carelessness; “for he whose hands are 
tied should have his tongue at freedom. — But thy 
glibness of reply, comrade,” rejoined he, speaking to 
Athelstane, “ will not win the freedom of the Lady 
Rowena.” 

To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer 
speech than was his custom to do on any topic, however 
interesting, returned no answer. The conversation was 
interrupted by the arrival of a menial, who announced 
that a monk demanded admittance at the postern gate. 

“ In the name of St. Bennet, the prince of these bull- 
beggars,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “have we a real monk this 
time, or another impostor ? Search him, slaves — for an 
ye suffer a second impostor to be palmed upon you, I will 
have your eyes torn out, and hot coals put into the 
sockets.” 

“Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my 
lord,” said Giles, “if this be not a real shaveling. Your 
squire Jocelyn knows him well, and will vouch him to be 
Brother Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon the Prior 
of Jorvaulx.” 

“Admit him,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “most likely he 
brings us news from his jovial master. Surely the devil 
keeps holiday, and the priests are relieved from duty, 
that they are strolling thus* wildly through the country. 
Remove these prisoners; and, Saxon, think on what thou 
hast heard.” 

“ I claim,” said Athelstane, “ an honourable imprison¬ 
ment, with due care of my board and of my couch, as 
becomes my rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty 


276 


IVANHOE. 


for ransom. Moreover, I hold him that deems himself the 
best of you bound to answer to me with his body for this 
aggression on my freedom. This defiance hath already 
been sent to thee by thy sewer; thou underliest it, and 
art bound to answer me. There lies my glove.” 

“I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,” said 
Front-de-Bceuf, “ nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy. — 
Giles,” he continued, “hang the franklin’s glove upon 
the tine of yonder branched antlers ; there shall it remain 
until he is a free man. Should he then presume to de¬ 
mand it, or to affirm he was unlawfully made my pris¬ 
oner, by the belt of St. Christopher, he will speak to one 
who hath never refused to meet a foe on foot or on horse¬ 
back, alone or with his vassals at his back ! ” 

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just as 
they introduced the monk Ambrose, who appeared to be 
in great perturbation. 

“This is the real Deus vobiscum ,” said Wamba, as he 
passed the reverend brother; “the others were but 
counterfeits.” 

“ Holy Mother! ” said the monk, as he addressed the 
assembled knights, “ I am at last safe and in Christian 
keeping! ” 

“ Safe thou art,” replied De Bracy, “ and for Chris¬ 
tianity, here is the stout Baron Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, 
whose utter abomination is a Jew; and the good Knight 
Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is to slay 
Saracens — If these are not good marks of Christianity, I 
know no other which they bear about them.” 

“ Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in 
God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,” said the monk, with¬ 
out noticing the tone of De Bracy’s reply ;• “ ye owe him 
aid both by knightly faith and holy charity; for what 
saith the blessed St. Augustin, in his treatise De Civitate 
Dei -” 

“ What saith the devil! ” interrupted Front-de-Bceuf; 
“or rather what dost thou say, Sir Priest? We have 
little time to hear texts from the holy fathers.” 

“ Sancta Maria! ” ejaculated Father Ambrose, “ how 
prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen l But be it 



IVANHOE. 


277 


known to yen, brave knights, that certain murderous 
caitiffs, casting behind them fear of God and reverence 
of His church, and not regarding the bull of the holy see, 

Si quis, suadente Diabolo -” 

44 Brother priest,” said the Templar, “ all this we know 
or guess at — tell us plainly, is thy master, the Prior, 
made prisoner, and to whom ? ” 

“Surely,” said Ambrose, “he is in the hands of the 
men of Belial, infesters of these woods, and contemners 
of the holy text, 4 Touch not mine anointed, and do my 
prophets nought of evil.’ ” 

44 Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,” said 
Pront-de-Boeuf, turning to his companions; 44 and so, 
instead of reaching us any assistance, the Prior of 
Jorvaulx requests aid at our hands ? A man is well 
helped of these lazy churchmen when he hath most to 
do ! — But speak out, priest, and say at once what doth 
thy master expect from us ? ” 

44 So please you,” said Ambrose , 44 violent hands having 
been imposed on my reverend superior, contrary to the 
holy ordinance which I did already quote, and the men 
of Belial having rifled his mails and budgets, and stripped 
him of two hundred marks of pure reflned gold, they do 
yet demand of him a large sum beside, ere they will suffer 
him to depart from their uncircumcised hands. Where¬ 
fore the reverend father in God prays you, as his dear 
friends, to rescue him either by paying down the ransom 
at which they hold him, or by force of arms, at your best 
discretion.” 

44 The foul fiend quell the Prior ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf ; 
44 his morning’s draught has been a deep one. When did 
thy master hear of a Norman baron unbuckling his purse 
to relieve a churchman, whose bags are ten times as 
weighty as ours ? — And how can we do aught by valour 
to free him, that are cooped up here by ten times our 
number, and expect an assault every moment ? ” 

44 And that was what I was about to tell you,” said the 
monk, 44 had your hastiness allowed me time. But, God 
help me, I am old, and these foul onslaughts distract an 
aged man’s brain. Nevertheless, it is of verity that they 



278 


IVANHOE. 


assemble a camp, and raise a bank against the walls oi 
this castle.” 

“ To the battlements! ” cried De Bracy, “ and let us 
mark what these knaves do without ”; and so saying, he 
opened a latticed window which led to a sort of bartizan 
or projecting balcony, and immediately called from 
thence to those in the apartment — “ St. Denis, but the 
old monk hath brought true tidings! — They bring for¬ 
ward mantelets and pavisses, and the archers muster on 
the skirts of the wood like a dark cloud before a hail¬ 
storm.” 

Reginald Front-de-Bceuf also looked out upon the field > 
and immediately snatched his bugle; and after winding 
a long and loud blast, commanded his men to their posts 
on the walls. 

“ De Bracy, look to the eastern side where the walls 
are lowest — Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well 
taught thee how to attack and defend, look thou to the 
western side — I myself will take post at the barbican. 
Yet, do not confine your exertions to any one spot, noble 
friends ! — We must this day be everywhere, and multiply 
ourselves, were it possible, so as to carry by our presence 
succour and relief wherever the attack is hottest. Our 
numbers are few, but activity and courage may sup¬ 
ply that defect, since we have only to do with rascal 
clowns.” 

“ But, noble knights,” exclaimed Father Ambrose, 
amidst the bustle and confusion occasioned by the prepa¬ 
rations for defence, “ will none of ye hear the message 
of the reverend father in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx ? 

— I beseech thee to hear me, noble Sir Reginald! ” 

“Go patter thy petitions to Heaven,” said the fierce 

Norman, “ for we on earth have no time to listen to them. 

— Ho ! there, Anselm! see that seething pitch and oil are 
ready to pour on the heads of these audacious traitors — 
Look that the cross-bowmen lack not bolts — Fling 
abroad my banner with the old bull’s head — the knaves 
shall soon find with whom they have to do this day ! ” 

“ But, noble sir,” continued the monk / persevering in 
his endeavours to draw attention, “ consider my vow of 




IVANHOE. 


279 


obedience, and let me discharge myself of my superior’s 
errand.” 

“ Away with this prating dotard,” said Front-de-Boeuf; 
“ lock him up in the chapel to tell his beads till the broil 
be over. It will be a new thing to the saints in Torquil- 
stone to hear aves and paters; they have not been so hon¬ 
oured, I trow, since they were cut out of stone.” 

“Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Reginald,” said 
Be Bracy, “ we shall have need of their aid to-day before 
yon rascal rout disband.” 

“I expect little aid from their hand,” said Front-de- 
Boeuf, “ unless we were to hurl them from the battlements 
on the heads of the villains. There is a huge lumbering 
St. Christopher yonder, sufficient to bear a whole com¬ 
pany to the earth.” 

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on 
the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more atten¬ 
tion than the brutal Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy compan¬ 
ion. 

“ By the faith of mine Order,” he said, “ these men ap¬ 
proach with more touch of discipline than could have 
been judged, however they come by it. See ye how dex¬ 
terously they avail themselves of every cover which a 
tree or bush affords, and shun exposing themselves to the 
shot of our cross-bows ? I spy neither banner nor pen¬ 
non among them, and yet will I gage my golden chain 
that they are led on by some noble knight or gentleman, 
skilful in the practice of wars.” 

“ I espy him,” said Be Bracy; “ I see the waving of a 
knight’s crest, and the gleam of his armour. See yon tall 
man in the black mail, who is busied marshalling the 
farther troop of the rascaille yeomen — by St. Benis, 
I hold him to be the same whom we called Le Noir 
Faineant, who overthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf, in the lists 
at Ashby.” 

“So much the better,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “that he 
comes here to give me my revenge. Some hilding fellow 
he must be, who dared not stay to assert his claim to the 
tourney prize which chance had assigned him. I should 
in vain have sought for him where knights and nobles 


280 


IVANHOE. 


seek their foes, and right glad am I he hath here shown 
himself among yon villain yeomanry.” 

The demonstrations of the enemy’s immediate approach 
cut off all farther discourse. Each knight repaired to 
his post, and at the head of the few followers whom they 
were able to muster, and who were in numbers inadequate 
to defend the whole extent of the walls, they awaited 
with calm determination the threatened assault. 


CHAPTER XXYIIL 

The wandering race, sever’d from other men, 

Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; 

The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt, 

Bind them acquainted with their secret treasures ; 

And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms, 

Display undreamt-of powers when gather’d by them. 

The Jew . 

Our history must needs retrograde for the space of a 
few pages, to inform the reader of certain passages ma¬ 
terial to his understanding the rest of this important 
narrative. His own intelligence may indeed have easily 
anticipated that, when Ivanhoe sunk down, and seemed 
abandoned by all the world, it was the importunity of 
Rebecca which prevailed on her father to have the gal¬ 
lant young warrior transported from the lists to the 
house which, for the time, the Jews inhabited in the 
suburbs of Ashby. 

It would not have been difficult to have persuaded 
Isaac to this step in any other circumstances, for his 
disposition was kind and grateful. But he had also the 
prejudices and scrupulous timidity of his persecuted 
people, and those were to be conquered. 

“ Holy Abraham ! ” he exclaimed, “ he is a good youth, 
and my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle down his 
rich embroidered hacqueton, and his corslet of goodly 
price — but to carry him to our house! — damsel, hast 
thou well considered ? He is a Christian, and by our 


IVANHOE. 281 

law we may not deal with the stranger and Gentile, save 
for the advantage of our commerce.” 

“Speak not so, my dear father,” replied Rebecca; 
“ we may not indeed mix with them in banqnet and in 
jollity; but in wounds and in misery, the Gentile be- 
cometh the Jew’s brother.” 

“ I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob ben Tudela 
would opine on it,” replied Isaac; “nevertheless, the 
good youth must not bleed to death. Let Seth and 
Reuben bear him to Ashby.” 

“Kay, let them place him in my litter,” said Rebecca; 
“ I will mount one of the palfreys.” 

“ That were to expose thee to the gaze of those dogs 
of Ishmael and of Edom,” whispered Isaac, with a sus¬ 
picious glance towards the crowd of knights and squires. 
But Rebecca was already busied in carrying her chari¬ 
table purpose into effect, and listed not what he said, 
until Isaac, seizing the sleeve of her mantle, again ex¬ 
claimed, in a hurried voice — “ Beard of Aaron ! what if 
the youth perish! — if he die in our custody, shall we 
not be held guilty of his blood, and be torn to pieces by 
the multitude ? ” 

“He will not die, my father,” said Rebecca, gently 
extricating herself from the grasp of Isaac — “he will 
not die unless we abandon him; and if so, we are indeed 
answerable for his blood to God and to man.” 

“Kay,” said Isaac, releasing his hold, “ it grieveth me 
as much to see the drops of his blood as if they were so 
many golden byzants from mine own purse ; and I well 
know that the lessons of Miriam, daughter of the Rabbi 
Manasses of Byzantium, whose soul is in Paradise, have 
made thee skilful in the art of healing, and that thou 
knowest the craft of herbs and the force of elixirs. 
Therefore, do as thy mind giveth thee — thou art a good 
damsel, a blessing, and a crown, and a song of rejoicing, 
unto me and unto my house, and unto the people of my 
fathers.” 

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill 
founded; and the generous and grateful benevolence of 
his daughter exposed her, on her return to Ashby, to 


282 


IVANHOE. 


the unhallowed gaze of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The 
Templar twice passed and repassed them on the road, 
fixing his bold and ardent look on the beautiful Jewess; 
and we have already seen the consequences of the admi¬ 
ration which her charms excited, when accident threw 
her into the power of that unprincipled voluptuary. 

Bebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be 
transported to their temporary dwelling, and proceeded 
with her own hands to examine and to bind up his 
wounds. The youngest reader of romances and romantic 
ballads must recollect how often the females during 
the dark ages, as they are called, were initiated into the 
mysteries of surgery, and how frequently the gallant knight 
submitted the wounds of his person to her cure whose eyes 
had yet more deeply penetrated his heart. 

But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and 
practised the medical science in all its branches, and the 
monarchs and powerful barons of the time frequently 
committed themselves to the charge of some experienced 
sage among this despised people, when wounded or in sick¬ 
ness. The aid of the Jewish physicians was not the less 
eagerly sought after, though a general belief prevailed 
among the Christians, that the Jewish Babbins were deeply 
acquainted with the occult sciences, and particularly with 
the cabalistical art, which had its name and origin in the 
studies of the sages of Israel. Neither did the Babbins 
disown such acquaintance with supernatural arts, which 
added nothing — for what could add aught ? — to the ha¬ 
tred with which their nation was regarded, while it di¬ 
minished the contempt with which that malevolence was 
mingled. A. Jewish magician might be the subject of 
equal abhorrence with a Jewish usurer, but he could not 
be equally despised. It is, besides, probable, considering 
the wonderful cures they are said to have performed, that 
the Jews possessed some secrets of the healing art pe¬ 
culiar to themselves, and which, with the exclusive spirit 
arising out of their condition, they took great care to 
conceal from the Christians amongst whom they dwelt. 

The beautiful Bebecca had been heedfully brought up 
in all the knowledge proper to her nation, which her apt 


IVANHOE. 


283 


and powerful mind liad retained, arranged, and enlarged, 
in the course of a progress beyond her years, her sex, and 
even the age in which she lived. Her knowledge of medi¬ 
cine and of the healing art had been acquired under an 
aged Jewess, the daughter of one of their most celebrated 
doctors, who loved Eebecca as her own child, and was be¬ 
lieved to have communicated to her secrets which had 
been left to herself by her sage father at the same time, 
and under the same circumstances. The fate of Miriam 
had indeed been to fall a sacrifice to the fanaticism of 
the times ; but her secrets had survived in her apt pupil. 

Eebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with beauty, 
was universally revered and admired by her own tribe, 
who almost regarded her as one of those gifted women 
mentioned in the sacred history. Her father himself, out 
of reverence for her talents, which involuntarily mingled 
itself with his unbounded affection, permitted the maiden 
a greater liberty than was usually indulged to those of 
her sex by the habits of her people, and was, as we have 
just seen, frequently guided by her opinion, even in pref¬ 
erence to his own. 

When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he was 
still in a state of unconsciousness, owing to the profuse 
loss of blood which had taken place during his exertions 
in the lists. Eebecca examined the wound, and having 
applied to it such vulnerary remedies as her art prescribed, 
informed her father that if fever could be averted, of which 
the great bleeding rendered her little apprehensive, and if 
the healing balsam of Miriam retained its virtue, there 
was nothing to fear for his guest’s life, and that he might 
with safety travel to York with them on the ensuing day. 
Isaac looked a little blank at this annunciation. His char¬ 
ity would willingly have stopped short at Ashby, or at 
most would have left the wounded Christian to be tended 
in the house where he was residing at present, with an 
assurance to the Hebrew to whom it belonged that all ex¬ 
penses should be duly discharged. To this, however, Ee¬ 
becca opposed many reasons, of which we shall only men¬ 
tion two that had peculiar weight with Isaac. The one 
was, that she would on no account put the phial of pre* 


284 


IVANHOE. 


cious balsam into the hands of another physician even oI 
her own tribe, lest that valuable mystery should be dis- 
covered; the other, that this wounded knight, Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe, was an intimate favourite of Richard Coeur-de- 
Lion, and that, in casp the monarch should return, Isaac, 
who had supplied his brother John with treasure to prose¬ 
cute his rebellious purposes, would stand in no small need 
of a powerful protector who enjoyed Richard’s favour. 

“ Thou art speaking but sooth, Rebecca,” said Isaac, giv¬ 
ing way to these weighty arguments — “ it were an offend¬ 
ing of Heaven to betray the secrets of the blessed Miriam; 
for the good which Heaven giveth is not rashly to be squan¬ 
dered upon others, whether it be talents of gold and shek¬ 
els of silver, or whether it be the secret mysteries of a wise 
physician — assuredly they should be preserved to those to 
whom Providence hath vouchsafed them. And him whom 
the Nazarenes of England call the Lion’s Heart — assur¬ 
edly it were better for me to fall into the hands of a 
strong lion of Idumea than into his, if he shall have got 
assurance of my dealing with his brother. Wherefore I 
will lend ear to thy counsel, and this youth shall journey 
with us unto York, and our house shall be as a home to 
him until his wounds shall be healed. And if he of the 
Lion Heart shall return to the land, as is now noised abroad, 
then shall this Wilfred of Ivanhoe be unto me as a wall 
of defence, when the king’s displeasure shall burn high 
against thy father. And if he doth not return, this Wil¬ 
fred may natheless repay us our charges when he shall gain 
treasure by the strength of his spear and of his sword, 
even as he did yesterday and this day also. For the youth 
is a good youth, and keepeth the day which he appointeth, 
and restoreth that which he borroweth, and succoureth the 
Israelite, even the child of my father’s house, when he is 
encompassed by strong thieves and sons of Belial.” 

It was not until evening was nearly closed that Ivan¬ 
hoe was restored to consciousness of his situation. He 
awoke from a broken slumber, under the confused im¬ 
pressions which are naturally attendant on the recovery 
from a state of insensibility. He was unable for some 
time to recall exactly to memory the circumstances which 


IVANHOE. 


285 


had preceded his fall in the lists, or to make out any 
connected chain of the events in which he had been 
engaged upon the yesterday. A sense of wounds and 
injury, joined to great weakness and exhaustion, was 
mingled with the recollection of blows dealt and received, 
of steeds rushing upon each other, overthrowing and 
overthrown, of shouts and clashing of arms, and all the 
heavy tumult of a confused fight. An effort to draw 
aside the curtain of his couch was in some degree success¬ 
ful, although -rendered difficult by the pain of his wound. 

To his great surprise, he found himself in a room 
magnificently furnished, but having cushions instead of 
chairs to rest upon, and in other respects partaking so 
much of Oriental costume that he began to doubt whether 
he had not, during his sleep, been transported back again 
to the land of Palestine. The impression was increased 
when, the tapestry being drawn aside, a female form, 
dressed in a rich habit, which partook more of the East¬ 
ern taste than that of Europe, glided through the door 
which it concealed, and was followed by a swarthy 
domestic. 

As the wounded knight was about to address this fair 
apparition, she imposed silence by placing her slender 
finger upon her ruby lips, while the attendant, approach¬ 
ing him, proceeded to uncover Ivanhoe’s side, and the 
lovely Jewess satisfied herself that the bandage was in 
its place, and the wound doing well. She performed 
her task with a graceful and dignified simplicity and 
modesty, which might, even in more civilised days, have 
served to redeem it from whatever might seem repug¬ 
nant to female delicacy. The idea of so young and 
beautiful a person engaged in attendance on a sick-bed, 
or in dressing the wound of one of a different sex, was 
melted away and lost in that of a beneficent being con¬ 
tributing her effectual aid to relieve pain, and to avert 
the stroke of death. Rebecca’s few and brief directions 
were given in the Hebrew language to the old domestic; 
and he, who had been frequently her assistant in similar 
cases, obeyed them without reply. 

The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh 


286 


IVAN HOE. 


they might have sounded when uttered by another, had, 
coming from the beautiful Rebecca, the romantic and 
pleasing effect which fancy ascribes to the charms pro¬ 
nounced by some beneficent fairy, unintelligible, indeed, 
to the ear, but from the sweetness of utterance and be¬ 
nignity of aspect which accompanied them, touching and 
affecting to the heart. Without making an attempt at 
further question, Ivanhoe suffered them in silence to 
take the measures they thought most proper for his 
recovery; and it was not until those wei-e completed, 
and this kind physician about to retire, that his curi¬ 
osity could no longer be suppressed. “ Gentle maiden,” 
he began in the Arabian tongue, with which his Eastern 
travels had rendered him familiar, and which he thought 
most likely to be understood by the turbaned and caf- 
taned damsel who stood before him, “ I pray you, gentle 
maiden, of your courtesy-- ” 

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician, 
a smile which she could scarce suppress dimpling for an 
instant a face whose general expression was that of con¬ 
templative melancholy. “ I am of England, Sir Knight, 
and speak the English tongue, although my dress and 
my lineage belong to another climate.” 

“Koble damsel——” again the Knight of ‘Ivanhoe 
began, and again Rebecca hastened'to interrupt him. 

“ Bestow not on me, Sir Knight,” she said, “ the epi¬ 
thet of noble. It is well you should speedily know 
that your handmaiden is a poor Jewess, the daughter 
of that Isaac of York to whom you were so lately a good 
and kind lord. It well becomes him and those of his 
household to render to you such careful tendance as your 
present state necessarily demands.” 

I know not whether the fair Rowena would have been 
altogether satisfied with the species of emotion with 
which her devoted knight had hitherto gazed on the 
beautiful features, and fair form, and lustrous eyes of 
the lovely Rebecca — eyes whose brilliancy was shaded,, 
and, as it were, mellowed, by the fringe of her long silken 
eyelashes, and which a minstrel would have compared 
to* the evening star darting its rays through a bower of 




IVANHOE. 


m 

jessamine. Bat Ivanhoe was too good a Catholic to 
retain the same class of feelings towards a Jewess. 
This Bebecca had foreseen, and for this very purpose 
she had hastened to mention her father’s name and line¬ 
age; yet — for the fair and wise daughter of Isaac was 
not without a touch of female weakness — she could not 
but sigh internally when the glance of respectful admira¬ 
tion, not altogether unmixed with tenderness, with which 
Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded his unknown benefactress, 
was exchanged at once for a manner cold, composed, and 
collected, and fraught with no deeper feeling than that 
which expressed a grateful sense of courtesy received 
from an unexpected quarter, and from one of an inferior 
race. It was not that Ivanhoe’s former carriage expressed 
more than that general devotional homage which youth 
always pays to beauty; yet it was mortifying that one 
word should operate as a spell to remove poor Bebecca, 
who could not be supposed altogether ignorant of her 
title to such homage, into a degraded class, to whom it 
could not be honourably rendered. 

But the gentleness and candour of Bebecca’s nature 
imputed no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in the universal 
prejudices of his age and religion. On the contrary, 
the fair Jewess, though sensible her patient now regarded 
her as one of a race of reprobation, with whom it was 
disgraceful to hold any beyond the most necessary inter¬ 
course, ceased not to pay the same patient and devoted 
attention to his safety and convalescence. She informed 
him of the necessity they were under of removing to 
York, and of her father’s resolution to transport him 
thither, and tend him in his own house until his health 
should be restored. Ivanhoe expressed great repugnance 
to this plan, which he grounded on unwillingness to give 
farther trouble to his benefactors. 

“ Was there not,” he said, “ in Ashby, or near it, some 
Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant, who 
would endure the burden of a wounded countryman’s 
residence with him until he should be again able to bear 
his armour? — was there no convent of Saxon endow¬ 
ment where he could be received ? — or could he not be 


288 


IVAN HOE. 


transported as far as Burton, where he was sure to find 
hospitality with Waltheotf, the Abbot of St. Withold’s, 
to whom he was related ? ” 

c< Any, the worst of these harbourages,” said Rebecca, 
with a melancholy smile, “ would unquestionably be 
more fitting for your residence than the abode of a de¬ 
spised Jew; yet, Sir Knight, unless you would dismiss 
your physician, you cannot change your lodging. Our 
nation, as you well know, can cure wounds, though we 
deal not in inflicting them; and in our own family, in 
particular, are secrets which have been handed down 
since the days of Solomon, and of which you have already 
experienced the advantages. No Nazarene — I crave 
your forgiveness, Sir Knight — no Christian leech, within 
the four seas of Britain, could enable you to bear your 
corslet within a month.” 

“ And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook it ? ” said 
Ivanhoe, impatiently. 

“ Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and con¬ 
formable to my directions,” replied Rebecca. 

“By Our Blessed Lady,” said Wilfred, “if it be not a 
sin to name her here, it is no time for me or any true 
knight to be bedridden; and if thou accomplish thy prom¬ 
ise, maiden, I will pay thee with my casque full of crowns, 
come by them as I may.” 

“I will accomplish my promise,” said Rebecca, “and 
thou shalt bear thine armour on the eighth day from 
hence, if thou wilt grant me but one boon in the stead of 
the silver thou dost promise me.” 

“ If it be within my power, and such as a true Christian 
knight may yield to one of thy people,” replied Ivanhoe, 
“ I will grant thy boon blythely and thankfully.” 

“Nay,” answered Rebecca, “I will but pray of thee to 
believe henceforward that a Jew may do good service to 
a Christian, without desiring other guerdon than the 
blessing of the Great Father who made both Jew and 
Gentile.” 

“It were sin to doubt it, maiden,” replied Ivanhoe; 
“ and I repose myself on thy skill without further scruple 
or question, well trusting you will enable me to bear my 


IVANHOE. 


289 


corslet on the eighth day. And now, my kind leech, 
let me inquire of the news abroad. What of the noble 
Saxon Cedric and his household ? — what of the lovely 

Lady --” He stopt, as if unwilling to speak Rowena’s 

name in the house of a Jew— “Of her, I mean, who was 
named Queen of the tournament ? ” 

“And who was selected by you, Sir Knight, to hold 
that dignity, with judgment which was admired as much 
as your valour,” replied Rebecca. 

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent a 
flush from crossing his cheek, feeling that he had incau¬ 
tiously betrayed his deep interest in Rowena by the awk¬ 
ward attempt he had made to conceal it. 

“It was less of her I would speak,” said he, “than 
of Prince John; and I would fain know somewhat of a 
faithful squire, and why he now attends me not?” 

“Let me use my authority as a leech,” answered Re¬ 
becca, “and enjoin you to keep silence, and avoid agitat¬ 
ing reflections, whilst I apprise you of what you desire to 
know. Prince John hath broken off the tournament, and 
set forward in all haste towards York, with the nobles, 
knights, and churchmen of his party, after collect¬ 
ing such sums as they could wring, by fair means 
or foul, from those who are esteemed the wealthy of 
the land. It is said he designs to assume his brother’s 
crown.” 

“ Kot without a blow struck in its defence,” said Ivan¬ 
hoe, raising himself upon the couch, “if there were but 
one true subject in England. I will fight for Richard’s 
title with the best of them — ay, one to two, in his just 
quarrel! ” 

“ But that you may be able to do so,” said Rebecca, 
touching his shoulder with her hand, “ you must now 
observe my directions, and remain quiet.” 

“ True, maiden,” said Ivanhoe, “ as quiet as these dis¬ 
quieted times will permit. — And of Cedric and his house¬ 
hold ? ” 

“His steward came but brief while since,” said the 
Jewess, “panting with haste, to ask my father for cer¬ 
tain monies, the price of wool the growth of Cedric’s 
u 



290 


IVANHOE. 


flocks, and from him I learned that Cedric and Athel* 
stane of Coningsburgh had left Prince John’s lodging in 
high displeasure, and were about to set forth on their 
return homeward.” 

“ Went any lady with them to the banquet ? ” said 
Wilfred. 

“The Lady Bowena,” said Bebecca, answering the 
question with more precision than it had been asked — 
“the Lady Bowena went not to the Prince’s feast, and, 
as the steward reported to us, she is now on her journey 
back to Botherwood with her guardian Cedric. And 
touching your faithful squire Gurth-” 

“ Ha! ” exclaimed the knight, “knowest thou his name ? 

— But thou dost,” he immediately added, “and well 
thou mayst, for it was from thy hand, and, as I am now 
convinced, from thine own generosity of spirit, that he 
received but yesterday a hundred zecchins.” 

“ Speak not of that,” said Bebecca, blushing deeply; 
“ I see how easy it is for the tongue to betray what the 
heart would gladly conceal.” 

“But this sum of gold,” said Ivanhoe, gravely, “my 
honour is concerned in repaying it to your father.” 

“Let it be as thou wilt,” said Bebecca, “when eight 
days have passed away; but think not, and speak not, 
now of aught that may retard thy recovery.” 

“ Be it so, kind maiden,” said Ivanhoe; “ I were most 
ungrateful to dispute thy commands. But one word of 
the fate of poor Gurth, and I have done with questioning 
thee.” 

“I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight,” answered the 
Jewess, “that he is in custody by the order of Cedric.” 

— And then observing the distress which her communi¬ 
cation gave to Wilfred, she instantly added: “ But the 
steward Oswald said, that if nothing occurred to renew 
his master’s displeasure against him, he was sure that 
Cedric would pardon Gurth, a faithful serf, and one who 
stood high in favour, and who had but committed this 
error out of the love which he bore to Cedric’s son. And. 
he said, moreover, that he and his comrades, and espe¬ 
cially Wamba, the Jester, were resolved to warn Gurth 



IVAN HOE. 


291 


co make his escape by the way, in case Cedric’s ire 
against him could not be mitigated.” 

“Would to God they may keep their purpose!” said 
Ivanhoe; “ but it seems as if I were destined to bring 
ruin on whomsoever hath shown kindness to me. My 
king, by whom I was honoured and distinguished — thou 
seest that the brother most indebted to him is raising his 
arms to grasp his crown ; — my regard hath brought re¬ 
straint and trouble on the fairest of her sex; — and now 
my father in his mood may slay this poor bondsman, but 
for his love and loyal service to me!—Thou seest, maiden, 
what an ill-fated wretch thou dost labour to assist; be wise, 
and let me go, ere the misfortunes which track my foot¬ 
steps like slot-hounds, shall involve thee also in their pur¬ 
suit.” 

“ Nay,” said Rebecca, “ thy weakness and thy grief, Sir 
Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes of Heaven. 
Thou hast been restored to thy country when it most 
needed the assistance of a strong hand and a true heart, 
and thou hast humbled the pride of thine enemies and 
those of thy king, when their horn was most highly ex 
alted; and for the evil which thou hast sustained, seest 
thou not that Heaven has raised thee a helper and a 
physician, even among the most despised of the land? 
— Therefore, be of good courage, and trust that thou art 
preserved for some marvel which thine arm shall work 
before this people. Adieu — and having taken the medi¬ 
cine which I shall send thee by the hand of Reuben, com¬ 
pose thyself again to rest, that tho.u mayst be the more 
able to endure the journey on the succeeding day.” 

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and obeyed 
the directions, of Rebecca. The draught which Reuben 
administered was of a sedative and narcotic quality, and 
secured the patient sound and undisturbed slumbers. In 
the morning his kind physician found him entirely free 
from feverish symptoms, and fit to undergo the fatigue 
of a journey. 

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had brought 
him from the lists, and every precaution taken for his 
travelling with ease. In one circumstance only even the 


292 


IVANHOE. 


entreaties of Rebecca were unable to secure sufficient at¬ 
tention to the accommodation of the wounded knight. 
Isaac, like the enriched traveller of Juvenal’s tenth 
satire, had ever the fear of robbery before his eyes, con¬ 
scious that he would be alike accounted fair game by the 
marauding Norman noble and by the Saxon outlaw. He 
therefore journeyed at a great rate, and made short halts 
and shorter repasts, so that he passed by Cedric and 
Athelstane, who had several hours the start of him, but 
who had been delayed by their protracted feasting at the 
convent of St. Withold’s. Yet such was the virtue of 
Miriam’s balsam, or such the strength of Ivanhoe’s con¬ 
stitution, that he did not sustain from the hurried jour¬ 
ney that inconvenience which his kind physician had 
apprehended. 

In another point of view, however, the Jew’s haste 
proved somewhat more than good speed. The rapidity 
with which he insisted on travelling bred several disputes 
between him and the party whom he had hired to attend 
him as a guard. These men were Saxons, and not free 
by any means from the national love of ease and good 
living which the Normans stigmatised as laziness and 
gluttony. Reversing Shylock’s position, they had ac¬ 
cepted the employment in hopes of feeding upon the 
wealthy Jew, and were very much displeased when they 
found themselves disappointed by the rapidity with which 
he insisted on their proceeding. They remonstrated also 
upon the risk of damage to their horses by these forced 
marches. Finally, there arose betwixt Isaac and his 
satellites a deadly feud concerning the quantity of wine 
and ale to be allowed for consumption at each meal. 
And thus it happened, that when the alarm of danger 
approached, and that which Isaac feared, was likely to 
come upon him, he was deserted by the discontented 
mercenaries, on whose protection he had relied without 
using the means necessary to secure their attachment. 

In this deplorable condition, the Jew, with his daugh¬ 
ter and her wounded patient, were found by Cedric, as 
has already been noticed, and soon afterwards fell into 
the power of De Bracy and his confederates. Little 


IVANHOE. 


293 


notice was at first taken of the horse-litter, and it might 
have remained behind but for the curiosity of De Bracy, 
who looked into it under the impression that it might 
contain the object of his enterprise, for Bowena had not 
unveiled herself. But De Bracy’s astonishment was con¬ 
siderable when he discovered that the litter contained a 
wounded man, who, conceiving himself to have fallen 
into the power of Saxon outlaws, with whom his name 
might be a protection for himself and his friends, frankly 
avowed himself to be Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst his 
wildness and levity, never utterly abandoned De Bracy, 
prohibited him from doing the knight any injury in his 
defenceless condition, and equally interdicted his be¬ 
traying him to Front-de-Boeuf, who would have had no 
scruples to put to death, under any circumstances, the 
rival claimant of the fief of Ivanhoe. On the other 
hand, to liberate a suitor preferred by the Lady Bowena, 
as the events of the tournament, and indeed Wilfred’s 
previous banishment from his father’s house, had made 
matter of notoriety, was a pitch far above the flight of 
De Bracy’s generosity. A middle course betwixt good 
and evil was all which he found himself capable of 
adopting, and he commanded two of his own squires to 
keep close by the litter, and to suffer no one to approach 
it. If questioned, they were directed by their master to 
say that the empty litter of the Lady Bowena was em¬ 
ployed to transport one of their comrades who had been 
wounded in the scuffle. On arriving at Torquilstone, 
while the Knight Templar and the lord of that castle 
were each intent upon their own schemes, the one on 
the Jew’s treasure, and the other on his daughter, De 
Bracy’s squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still under the name 
of a wounded comrade, to a distant apartment. This 
explanation was accordingly returned by these men to 
Front-de-Boeuf, when he questioned them why they did 
not make for the battlements upon the alarm. 

“ A wounded companion! ” he replied in great wrath 
and astonishment. “No wonder that churls and yeo¬ 
men wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer before 


294 


IVANHOE. 


castles, and that clowns and swineherds send defiances 
to nobles, since men-at-arms have turned sick men’s 
nurses, and Free Companions are grown keepers of dy¬ 
ing folks’ curtains, when the castle is about to be as¬ 
sailed. — To the battlements, ye loitering villains! ” he 
exclaimed, raising his stentorian voice till the arches 
around rung again — “to the battlements, or I will 
splinter your bones with this truncheon! ” 

The men sulkily replied that they desired nothing 
better than to go to the battlements, providing Front-de- 
Boeuf would bear them out with their master, who had 
commanded them to tend the dying man. 

“The dying man, knaves!” rejoined the baron; “I 
promise thee, we shall all be dying men, an we stand 
not to it the more stoutly. But I will relieve the guard 
upon this caitiff companion of yours. — Here, Urfried — 
hag — fiend of a Saxon witch — hearest me not ? Tend 
me this bedridden fellow, since he must needs be tended, 
whilst these knaves use their weapons. — Here be two 
arblasts, comrades, with windlaces and quarrels—to the 
barbican with you, and see you drive each bolt through 
a Saxon brain.” 

The men, who, like most of their description, were 
fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully 
to the scene of danger as they were commanded, and 
thus the charge of Ivanhoe was transferred to Urfried, 
or Ulrica. But she, whose brain was burning with re¬ 
membrance of injuries and with hopes of vengeance, was 
readily induced to devolve upon Rebecca the care of her 
patient. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier, 

Look on the held, and say how goes the battle. 

Schiller’s Maid of Orleans. 

A moment of peril is often also a moment of open- 
hearted kindness and affection. We are thrown off our 
guard by the general agitation of our feelings, and betray 


IVANHOE. 


295 


the intensity of those which, at more tranquil periods, 
our prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogether 
suppress them. In finding herself once more by the side 
of Ivanhoe, Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensa¬ 
tion of pleasure which she experienced, even at a time 
when all around them both was danger, if not despair. 
As she felt his pulse, and inquired after his health, there 
was a softness in her touch and in her accents, implying 
a kinder interest than she would herself have been 
pleased to have voluntarily expressed. Her voice fal¬ 
tered and her hand trembled, and it was only the cold 
question of Ivanhoe, “ Is it you, gentle maiden ? ” which 
recalled her to herself, and reminded her the sensations 
which she felt were not and could not be mutual. A 
sigh escaped, but it was scarce audible; and the ques¬ 
tions which she asked the knight concerning his state of 
health were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe 
answered her hastily that he was, in point of health, as 
well, and better, than he could have expected—“ Thanks,” 
he said, “ dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill .’ 7 

“ He calls me dear Rebecca,” said the maiden to her¬ 
self, “but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill 
suits the word. His war-horse — his hunting hound, are 
dearer to him than the despised Jewess! ” 

“My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “is 
more disturbed by anxiety than my body with pain. 
From the speeches of these men who were my warders 
just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge 
aright of the loud hoarse voice which even now dis¬ 
patched them hence on some military duty, I am in the 
castle of Front-de-Boeuf. If so, how will this end, or 
how can I protect Rowena and my father ? ” 

“He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Rebecca, in¬ 
ternally; “yet what is our portion in him, and how 
justly am I punished by Heaven for letting my thoughts 
dwell upon him!” She hastened after this brief self¬ 
accusation to give Ivanhoe what information she could; 
but it amounted only to this, that the Templar Bois- 
Guilbert and the Baron Front-de-Boeuf were command¬ 
ers within the castle; that it was beleaguered from 


296 


IVANHOE. 


without, but by whom she knew not. She added, that 
there was a Christian priest within the castle who might 
be possessed of more information. 

“A Christian priest!” said the knight, joyfully, 
“ fetch him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst — say a sick 
man desires his ghostly counsel — say what thou wilt, 
but bring him; something I must do or attempt, but 
how can I determine until I know how matters stand 
without ? ” 

Rebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, 
made that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded 
knight’s chamber which was defeated, as we have al¬ 
ready seen, by the interference of Urfried, who had been 
also on the watch to intercept the supposed monk. Re¬ 
becca retired to communicate to Ivanhoe the result of 
her errand. 

They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this 
source of intelligence, or to contrive by what means it 
might be supplied; for the noise within the castle, occa¬ 
sioned by the defensive preparations, which had been 
considerable for some time, now increased into tenfold 
bustle and clamour. The heavy yet hasty step of the 
men-at-arms traversed the battlements, or resounded on 
the narrow and winding passages and stairs which led 
to the various bartizans and points of defence. The 
voices of the knights were heard, animating their follow¬ 
ers, or directing means of defence, while their commands 
were often drowned in the clashing of armour, or the 
clamorous shouts of those whom they addressed. Tre¬ 
mendous as these sounds were, and yet more terrible 
from the awful event which they presaged, there was a 
sublimity mixed with them which Rebecca’s high-toned 
mind could feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye 
kindled, although the blood fled from her cheeks; and 
there was a strong mixture of fear, and of a thrilling 
sense of the sublime, as she repeated, half-whispering to 
herself, half-speaking to her companion, the sacred text 
— “The quiver rattleth — the glittering spear and the 
shield — the noise of the captains and the shouting ! ” 

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime 




erf 1 1 


arge. 


ancieniT 














































































































































IVaNHOE. 


297 


passage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and 
with his ardent desire to mingle in the affray of which 
these sounds were the introduction. “If 1 could but 
drag myself,” he said, “ to yonder window, that I might 
see how this brave game is like to go — If I had but bow 
to shoot a shaft, or battle-axe to strike were it but a single 
blow for our deliverance! It is in vain — it is in vain — 
I am alike nerveless and weaponless! ” 

“Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebecca, 
“ the sounds have ceased of a sudden — it may be they 
join not battle.” 

“Thou knowest nought of it,” said Wilfred, impa¬ 
tiently; “this dead pause only shows that the men are at 
their posts on the walls, and expecting an instant attack, 
what we have heard was but the distant muttering of the 
storm — it will burst anon in all its fury. Could I but 
reach yonder window! ” 

“Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble 
knight,” replied his attendant. Observing his extreme 
solicitude, she firmly added, “ I myself will stand at the 
lattice, and describe to you as I can what passes without.” 

“ You must not — you shall not! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 
“ Each lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the 
archers; some random shaft-” 

“ It shall be welcome! ” murmured Rebecca, as with 
firm pace she ascended two or three steps, which led to 
the window of which they spoke. 

“ Rebecca — dear Rebecca! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “ this 
is no maiden’s pastime — do not expose thyself to wounds 
and death, and render me for ever miserable for having 
given the occasion; at least, cover thyself with yonder 
ancient buckler, and show as little of your person at the 
lattice as may be.” 

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions 
of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the 
large ancient shield, which she placed against the lower 
part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security to 
herself, could witness part of what was passing without 
the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which 
the assailants were making for the storm. Indeed, the 



298 


IVANHOE. 


situation which she thus obtained was peculiarly favour¬ 
able for this purpose, because, being placed on an angle 
of the main building, Eebecca could not only see what 
passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but also com¬ 
manded a view of the outwork likely to be the first object 
of the meditated assault. It was an exterior fortification 
of no great height or strength, intended to protect the 
postern-gate, through which Cedric had been recently dis¬ 
missed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided this 
species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so that, 
in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the com¬ 
munication with the main building, by withdrawing the 
temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sallyport cor¬ 
responding to the postern of the castle, and the whole 
was surrounded by a strong palisade. Rebecca could ob¬ 
serve, from the number of men placed for the defence of 
this post, that the besieged entertained apprehensions for 
its safety; and from the mustering of the assailants in a 
direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed no 
less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable point 
of attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivan- 
hoe, and added, “The skirts of the woods seem lined 
with archers, although only a few are advanced from its 
dark shadow.” 

“ Under what banner ? ” asked Ivanhoe. 

“ Under no ensign of war which I can observe,” an¬ 
swered Eebecca. 

“A singular novelty,” muttered the knight, “to ad¬ 
vance to storm such a castle without pennon or ban¬ 
ner displayed! — Seest thou who they be that act as 
leaders ? ” 

“ A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most conspicu¬ 
ous,” said the Jewess; “he alone is armed from head to 
heel, and seems to assume the direction of all around 
him.” 

“ What device does he bear on his shield ? ” replied 
Ivanhoe. 

“ Something resembling a bar of iron and a padlock 
painted blue on the black shield.” 


IVANHOE. 


299 


“A fetterlock and shackle-bolt azure,” said Ivanhoe; 
“ I know not who may bear the device, but well I ween 
it might now be mine own. Canst thou not see the 
motto ? ” 

“ Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied 
Rebecca; “ but when the sun glances fair upon his shield 
it shows as I tell you.” 

“ Seem there no other leaders ? ” exclaimed the anxious 
inquirer. 

“ None of mark and distinction that I can behold from 
this station,” said Rebecca; “ but doubtless the other 
side of the castle is also assailed. They appear even 
now preparing to advance — God of Zion protect us ! — 
What a dreadful sight! — Those who advance first bear 
huge shields and defences made of plank; the others 
follow, bending their bows as they come on. — They 
raise their bows ! — God of Moses, forgive the creatures 
, Thou hast made ! ” 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the 
signal for assault, which was given by the blast of a 
shrill bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of the 
Norman trumpets from the battlements, which, mingled 
with the deep and hollow clang of the nakers (a species 
of kettle-drum), retorted in notes of defiance the chal¬ 
lenge of the enemy. The shouts of both parties aug¬ 
mented the fearful din, the assailants crying, “St. George 
for merry England!” and the Normans answering them 
with loud cries of “ En avant Be Bracy! — Beau-seant! 
Beau-seant! — Front-de-Boeuf d. la rescousse ! ” according 
to the war-cries of their different commanders. 

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was 
to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants 
were met by an equally vigorous defence on the part of 
the besieged. The archers, trained by their woodland 
pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, 
to use the appropriate phrase of the time, so “ wholly to¬ 
gether,” that no point at which a defender could show 
the least part of his person escaped their cloth-yard 
shafts. By this heavy discharge, which continued as 
thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every 


300 


IVANHOE. 


arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scores together 
against each embrasure and opening in the parapets, as 
well as at every window where a defender either occa¬ 
sionally had post, or might be suspected to be stationed 
— by this sustained discharge, two or three of the garri¬ 
son were slain and several others, wounded. But, confi¬ 
dent in their armour of proof, and in the cover which 
their situation afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf 
and his allies showed an obstinacy in defence propor¬ 
tioned to the fury of the attack, and replied with the dis¬ 
charge of their large cross-bows, as well as with their 
long-bows, slings, and other missile weapons, to the close 
and continued shower of arrows; and, as the assailants 
were necessarily but indifferently protected, did consider¬ 
ably more damage than they received at their hand. The 
whizzing of shafts and of missiles on both sides was only 
interrupted by the shouts which arose when either side 
inflicted or sustained some notable loss. 

“And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,” ex¬ 
claimed Ivanhoe, “ while the game that gives me free¬ 
dom or death is played out by the hand of others ! — 
Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but be¬ 
ware that you are not marked by the archers beneath — 
Look out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to 
the storm.” 

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval 
which she had employed in mental devotion, Bebecca 
again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, 
so as not to be visible from beneath. 

“ What dost thou see, Bebecca ? ” again demanded the 
wounded knight. 

“Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to 
dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot 
them.” 

“ That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe; “ if they press 
not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, 
the archery may avail but little against stone walls and 
bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair 
Bebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader 
is, so will his followers be.” 


IVANHGE. 


301 


“ I see him not,” said Eebecca. 

“ Foul craven! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “ does he blench 
from the helm when the wind blows highest ? ” 

“ He blenches not! — he blenches not! ” said Eebecca, 
“ I see him now; he leads a body of men close under 
the outer barrier of the barbican. — They pull down the 
piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with 
axes. — His high black plume floats abroad over the 
throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. — They 
have made a breach in the barriers — they rush in — 
they are thrust back ! — Front-de-Boeuf heads the de¬ 
fenders ; I see his gigantic form above the press. They 
throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand 
to hand, and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meet¬ 
ing of two fierce tides — the conflict of two oceans moved 
by adverse winds ! ” 

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable 
longer to endure a sight so terrible. 

“ Look forth again, Eebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mistaking 
the cause of her retiring; “ the archery must in some 
degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand 
to hand. — Look again, there is now less danger.” 

Eebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately 
exclaimed, “Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf 
and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, 
amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress 
of the strife — Heaven strike with the cause of the op¬ 
pressed and of the captive ! ” She then uttered a loud 
shriek, and exclaimed, “ He is down ! — he is down ! ” 

“ Who is down ? ” cried Ivanhoe; “ for our dear Lady’s 
sake, tell me which has fallen ? ” 

“ The Black Knight,” answered Eebecca, faintly; then 
instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness: “But no 

— but no! the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed! 
he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty 
men’s strength in his single arm. — His sword is broken 

— he snatches an axe from a yeomen — he presses Front- 
de-Boeuf with blow on blow—The giant stoops and 
totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman — he 
falls —he falls! ” 


302 


IVAN HOE. 


“ Front-de-Boeuf ? ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

“ Front-de-Boeuf,” answered the Jewess. *His men 
rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar — 
their united force compels the champion to pause. — They 
drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls.” 

“The assailants have won the barriers, have they 
not ? ” said Ivanhoe. 

“ They have — they have ! ” exclaimed Bebecca; “ and 
they press the besieged hard upon the outer wall; some 
plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavour to 
ascend upon the shoulders of each other — down go 
stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and 
as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men 
supply their places in the assault. Great God! hast 
Thou given men Thine own image that it should be thus 
cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren ! ” 

“ Think not of that,” said Ivanhoe; “ this is no time 
for such thoughts — Who yield ? — who push their 
way ? ” 

“The ladders are thrown down,” replied Rebecca, 
shuddering; “the soldiers lie grovelling under them 
like crushed reptiles. — The besieged have the better.” 

“ St. George strike for us! ” exclaimed the knight; 
do the false yeomen give way ? ” 

“No!” exclaimed Rebecca, “they bear themselves 
right yeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the 
postern with his huge axe — the thundering blows which 
he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts 
of the battle — Stones and beams are hailed down on 
the bold champion — he regards them no more than if 
they were thistle-down or feathers ! ” 

“By St. John of Acre,” said Ivanhoe, raising himself 
joyfully on his couch, “methought there was but one 
man in England that might do such a deed! ” 

“The postern gate shakes,” continued Rebecca—“it 
crashes — it is splintered by his blows — they rush in 
— the outwork is won. 0 God! they hurl the defenders 
from the battlements — they throw them into the moat. 
0 men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist 
no longer! ” 


I VAN HOE. 


303 


“ The bridge — the bridge which communicates with 
the castle — have they won that pass ? ” exclaimed 
Ivanhoe. 

“No,” replied Rebecca; “the Templar has destroyed 
the plank on which they crossed — few of the defenders 
escaped with him into the castle — the shrieks and cries 
which you hear tell the fate of the others. Alas! I see 
it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon 
battle.” 

“ What do they now, maiden ? ” said Ivanhoe ; “ look 
forth yet again — this is no time to faint at bloodshed.” 

“ It is over for the time,” answered Rebecca; “ our 
friends strengthen themselves within the outwork which 
they have mastered, and it affords them so good a shel¬ 
ter from the foemen’s shot that the garrison only bestow 
a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather 
to disquiet than effectually to injure them.” 

“ Our friends,” said Wilfred, “ will surely not abandon 
an enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily at¬ 
tained. — Oh, no ! I will put my faith in the good knight 
whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron.— 
Singular,” he again muttered to himself, “ if there be 
two who can do a deed of such derring-do ! A fetter¬ 
lock and a shackle-bolt on a field sable — what may that 
mean ? Seest thou nought else, Rebecca, by which the 
Black Knight may be distinguished ? ” 

“ Nothing,” said the Jewess : “ all about him is black 
as the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that 
can mark him further; but having once seen him put 
forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know 
him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to 
the fray as if he were summoned to a banquet. There 
is more than mere strength — there seems as if the whole 
soul and spirit of the champion were given to every blow 
which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilzie him of 
the sin of bloodshed! — it is fearful, yet magnificent, to 
behold how the arm and heart of one man can triumph 
over hundreds.” 

“ Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, “ thou hast painted a hero; 
surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide 


304 


IVANHOE. 


the means of crossing the moat. Under such a leader as 
thou hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven 
fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant 
emprize, since the difficulties which render it arduous 
render it also glorious. I swear by the honour of my 
house — I vow by the name of my bright lady-love, I 
would endure ten years’ captivity to fight one day by 
that good knight’s side in such a quarrel as this! ” 

“ Alas! ” said Rebecca, leaving her station at the 
window, and approaching the couch of the wounded 
knight, “this impatient yearning after action — this 
struggling with and repining at your present weakness, 
will not fail to injure your returning health. How 
couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on others, ere that 
be healed which thou thyself hast received ? ” 

“ Rebecca,” he replied, “ thou knowest not how im¬ 
possible it is for one trained to actions of chivalry to 
remain passive as a priest, or a woman, when they are 
acting deeds of honour around him. The love of battle 
is the food upon which we live — the dust of the mSlee 
is the breath of our nostrils! We live not — we wish 
not to live — longer than while we are victorious and 
renowned. Such, maiden, are the laws of chivalry to 
which we are sworn, and to which we offer all that we 
hold dear.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the fair Jewess, “ and what is it, valiant 
knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain 
glory, and a passing through the fire to Moloch ? What 
remains to you as the prize of all the blood you have 
spilled — of all the travail and pain you have endured — 
of all the tears which your deeds have caused, when 
death hath broken the strong man’s spear, and overtaken 
the speed of his war-horse ? ” 

“What remains?” cried Ivanhoe. “Glory, maiden — 
glory! which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our 
name.” 

“ Glory ! ” continued Rebecca; “ alas ! is the rusted 
mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion’s 
dim and mouldering tomb, — is the defaced sculpture of 
the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly 


IVANHOE. 


305 


read to the inquiring pilgrim — are these sufficient re¬ 
wards for the sacrifice of every kindly affection, for a 
life spent miserably that ye may make others miserable ? 
Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wander¬ 
ing bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and 
happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of 
those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken 
churls over their evening ale ? ” 

“ By the soul of Hereward! ” replied the knight, 
impatiently, “thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest 
not what. Thou wouldst quench the pure light of 
chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble from the 
base, the gentle knight from the churl and the savage; 
which rates our life far, far beneath the pitch of our 
honour, raises us victorious over pain, toil, and suffering, 
and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace. Thou art no 
Christian, Rebecca; and to thee are unknown those 
high feelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden 
when her lover hath done some deed of emprize which 
sanctions his flame. Chivalry ! — why, maiden, she is 
the nurse of pure and high affection, the stay of the 
oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the 
power of the tyrant. Nobility were but an empty name 
without her, and liberty finds the best protection in her 
lance and her sword.” 

“ I am, indeed,” said Rebecca, “ sprung from a 
race whose courage was distinguished in the defence of 
their own land, but who warred not, even while yet a 
nation, save at the command of the Deity, or in de¬ 
fending their country from oppression. The sound of 
the trumpet wakes Judah no longer, and her despised 
children are now but the unresisting victims of hostile 
and militar}^ oppression. Well hast thou spoken, Sir 
Knight — until the God of Jacob shall raise up for His 
chosen people a second Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it 
ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel to speak of battle or 
of war.” 

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in 
a tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of 
the degradation of her people, embittered perhaps by 


306 


IVANHOE. 


the idea that Ivanhoe considered her as one not entitled 
to interfere in a case of honour, and incapable of enter¬ 
taining or expressing sentiments of honour and gener¬ 
osity. 

“How little he knows this bosom,” she said, “to 
imagine that cowardice or meanness of soul must needs 
be its guests, because I have censured the fantastic 
chivalry of the Nazarenes ! Would to Heaven that the 
shedding of mine own blood, drop by drop, could redeem 
the captivity of Judah! Nay, would to God it could 
avail to set free my father, and this his benefactor, from 
the chains of the oppressor! The proud Christian 
should then see whether the daughter of God’s chosen 
people dared not to die as bravely as the vainest Naza- 
rene maiden, that boasts her descent from some petty 
chieftain of the rude and frozen north! ” 

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded 
knight. 

“He sleeps,” she said; “nature exhausted by suffer¬ 
ance and the waste of spirits, his wearied frame 
embraces the first moment of temporary relaxation to 
sink into slumber. Alas! is it a crime that I should 
look upon him, when it may be for the last time ? — 
When yet but a short space, and those fair features will 
be no longer animated by the bold and buoyant spirit 
which forsakes them not even in sleep ! — When the nos¬ 
tril shall be distended, the mouth agape, the eyes fixed 
and bloodshot; and when the proud and noble knight 
may be trodden on by the lowest caitiff of this accursed 
castle, yet stir not when the heel is lifted up. against 
him ! And my father ! — oh, my father! evil is it with 
his daughter, when his grey hairs are not remembered 
because of the golden locks of youth! — What know I 
but that these evils are the messengers of Jehovah’s 
wrath to the unnatural child who thinks of a stranger’s 
captivity before a parent’s ? who forgets the desolation 
of Judah, and looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile 
and a stranger ? — But I will tear this folly from my 
heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away ! ” 

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down 


IVANHOE. 


307 


at a distance from the couch of the wounded knight, 
with her back turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavour¬ 
ing to fortify, her mind not only against the impending 
evils from without, but also against those treacherous 
feelings which assailed her from within. 


\ 

i CHAPTER XXX. 

Approach the chamber, look upon his bed, 

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, 

Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 

’Mid morning’s sweetest breeze and softest dew, 

Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs and tears ! 
Anselm parts otherwise. 

Old Play. 

During the interval of quiet which followed the first 
success of the besiegers, while the one party was prepar¬ 
ing to pursue their advantage and the other to strengthen 
their means of defence, the Templar and De Bracy held 
brief counsel together in the hall of the castle. 

" Where is Eront-de-Boeuf ? ” said the latter, who had 
superintended the defence of the fortress on the other 
side; “men say he hath been slain.” 

“ He lives,” said the Templar, coolly — “ lives as yet; 
but had he worn the bull’s head of which he bears the 
name, and ten plates of iron to fence it withal, he must 
have gone down before yonder fatal axe. Yet a few hours, 
and Eront-de-Boeuf is with his fathers — a powerful limb 
lopped off Prince John’s enterprise.” 

“ And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,” said 
De Bracy; “ this comes of reviling saints and angels, and 
ordering images of holy things and holy men to be flung 
down on the heads of these rascaille yeomen.” 

“ Go to, — thou art a fool,” said the Templar; “ thy 
superstition is upon a level with Front-de-Boeuf’s want 
of faith; neither of you can render a reason for your be¬ 
lief or unbelief.” 

“ Benedicite, Sir Templar,” replied De Bracy, “ I pray 
you to keep better rule with your tongue when I am the 


308 


IVANHOE. 


theme of it. By the Mother of Heaven, I am a better 
Christian man than thou and thy fellowship; for the 
bruit goeth shrewdly out, that the most holy order of 
the Temple of Zion nurseth not a few heretics within 
its bosom, and that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is of the 
number.” 

“ Care not thou for such reports,” said the Templar; 
“ but let us think of making good the castle. — How 
fought these villain yeomen on thy side ? ” 

“ Like fiends incarnate,” said He Bracy. “They swarmed 
close up to the walls, headed, as I think, by the knave 
who won the prize at the archery, for I knew his horn and 
baldric. And this is old Fitzurse’s boasted policy, en¬ 
couraging these malapert knaves to rebel against us! Had 
I not been armed in proof, the villain had marked me 
down seven times with as little remorse as if I had been 
a buck in season. He told every rivet on my armour with 
a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped against my ribs with as 
little compunction as if my bones had been of iron — but 
that I wore a shirt of Spanish mail under my plate-coat, 
I had been fairly sped.” 

“ But you maintained your post ? ” said the Templar. 
“We lost the outwork on our part.” 

“ That is a shrewd loss,” said De Bracy; “ the knaves 
will find cover there to assault the castle more closely, 
and may, if not well watched, gain some unguarded corner 
of a tower, or some forgotten window, and so break in 
upon us. Our numbers are too few for the defence of 
every point, and the men complain that they can nowhere 
show themselves, but they are the mark for as many 
arrows as a parish-butt on a holyday even. Front-de- 
Boeuf is dying, too, so we shall receive no more aid from 
his bulks head and brutal strength. How think you, Sir 
Brian, were we not better make a virtue of necessity, 
and compound with the rogues by delivering up our 
prisoners ? ” 

“ How ! ” exclaimed the Templar; “ deliver up our 
prisoners, and stand an object alike of ridicule and exe¬ 
cration, as the doughty warriors who dared by a night- 
attack to possess themselves of the persons of a party of 


IVANHOE. 


309 


defenceless travellers, yet could not make good a strong 
castle against a vagabond troop of outlaws, led by swine¬ 
herds, jesters, and the very refuse of mankind?'—Shame 
on thy counsel, Maurice de Bracy! — The ruins of this 
castle shall bury both my body and my shame, ere I con¬ 
sent to such base and dishonourable composition .’ 7 

“ Let us to the walls, then,” said De Bracy, carelessly; 
“ that man never breathed, be he Turk or Templar, who 
held life at higher rate than I do. But I trust there is 
no dishonour in wishing I had here some two scores oi 
my gallant troop of Free Companions ! — Oh, my brave 
lances! if ye knew but how hard your captain were this 
day bested, how soon should I see my banner at the head 
of your clump of spears! And how short while would 
these rabble villains stand to endure your encounter! ” 

“ Wish for whom thou wilt,” said the Templar, “but 
let us make what defence we can with the soldiers who 
remain. They are chiefly Front-de-Boeuf’s followers, 
hated by the English for a thousand acts of insolence 
and oppression.” 

“The better,” said De Bracy, “the rugged slaves will 
defend themselves to the last drop of their blood, ere 
they encounter the revenge of the peasants without. Let 
us up and be doing, then, Brian de Bois-Guilbert; and, 
live or die, thou shalt see Maurice de Bracy bear himself 
this day as a gentleman of blood and lineage.” 

“ To the walls! ” answered the Templar; and they 
both ascended the battlements to do all that skill could 
dictate and manhood accomplish, in defence of the 
place. They readily agreed that the point of greatest 
danger was that opposite to the outwork of which the 
assailants had possessed themselves. The castle, indeed, 
was divided from that barbican by the moat, and it was 
impossible that the besiegers could assail the postern 
door, with which the outwork corresponded, without sur¬ 
mounting that obstacle; but it was the opinion both of 
the Templar and De Bracy that the besiegers, if governed 
by the same policy their leader had already displayed, 
would endeavour, by a formidable assault, to draw the 
chief part of the defenders’ observation to this point, and 


310 


IVANHOE. 


take measures to avail themselves of every negligence 
which, might take place in the defence elsewhere. To 
guard against such an evil, their numbers only per¬ 
mitted the knights to place sentinels from space to space 
along the walls in communication with each other, who 
might give the alarm whenever danger was threatened. 
Meanwhile, they agreed that De Bracy should command 
the defence at the postern, and the Templar should keep 
with him a score of men or thereabouts as a body of re¬ 
serve, ready to hasten to any other point which might be 
suddenly threatened. The loss of the barbican had also 
this unfortunate effect, that, notwithstanding the superior 
height of the castle walls, the besieged could not see from 
them, with the same precision as before, the operations of 
the enemy; for some straggling underwood approached 
so near the sallyport of the outworks that the assailants 
might introduce into it whatever force they thought 
proper, not only under cover, but even without the know¬ 
ledge of the defenders. Utterly uncertain, therefore, 
upon what point the storm was to burst, De Bracy and 
his companion were under the necessity of providing 
against every possible contingency, and their followers, 
however brave, experienced the anxious dejection of mind 
incident to men enclosed by enemies, who possessed the 
power of choosing their time and mode of attack. 

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered 
castle lay upon a bed of bodily pain and mental agony. 
He had not the usual resource of bigots in that super¬ 
stitious period, most of whom were wont to atone for the 
crimes they were guilty of, by liberality to the Church, 
stupefying by this means their terrors by the idea of 
atonement and forgiveness; and although the refuge 
which success thus purchased was no more like to the 
peace of mind which follows on sincere repentance than 
the turbid stupefaction procured by opium resembles 
healthy and natural slumbers, it was still a state of mind 
preferable to the agonies of awakened remorse. But 
among the vices of Front-de-Boeuf, a hard and griping 
man, avarice was predominant; and he preferred setting 


IVANHOE. 


311 


church and churchmen at defiance, to purchasing from 
them pardon and absolution at the price of treasure and 
of manors. Nor did the Templar, an infidel of another 
stamp, justly characterise his associate when he said 
Front-de-Boeuf could assign no cause for his unbelief and 
contempt for the established faith; for the baron would 
have alleged that the Church sold her wares too dear, 
that the spiritual freedom which she put up to sale was 
only to be bought, like that of the chief captain of Jeru¬ 
salem, “ with a great sum,” and Front-de-Boeuf preferred 
denying the virtue of the medicine to paying the expense 
of the physician. 

But the moment had now arrived when earth and all 
his treasures were gliding from before his eyes, and when 
the savage baron’s heart, though hard as a nether mill¬ 
stone, became appalled as he gazed forward into the waste 
darkness of futurity. The fever of his body aided the 
impatience and agony of his mind, and his death-bed 
exhibited a mixture of the newly awakened feelings of 
horror combating with the fixed and inveterate obstinacy 
of his disposition — a fearful state of mind, only to be 
equalled in those tremendous regions where there are 
complaints without hope, remorse without repentance, a 
dreadful sense of present agony, and a presentiment that 
it cannot cease or be diminished! 

“ Where be these dog-priests now,” growled the baron, 
“who set such price on their ghostly mummery? — 
where be all those unshod Carmelites, for whom old 
Front-de-Boeuf founded the convent of St. Anne, robbing 
his heir of many a fair rood of meadow, and many a fat 
field and close — where be the greedy hounds now? — 
Swilling, I warrant me, at the ale, or playing their jug¬ 
gling tricks at the bedside of some miserly churl. Me, 
the heir of their founder — me whom their foundation 
binds them to pray for — me — ungrateful villains as they 
are ! — they suffer to die like the houseless dog on yonder 
common, unshriven and unhouseled ! Tell the Templar 
to come hither; he is a priest, and may do something — 
But no! as well confess myself to the devil as to Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, who recks neither of Heaven nor of 


312 


IVANHOE. 


Hell.— I have heard old men talk of prayer — prayer by 
their own voice — such need not to court or to bribe the 
false priest. But I — I dare not! ” 

“ Lives Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said a broken and 
shrill voice close by his bedside, “ to say there is that 
which he dares not ? ” 

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de- 
Boeuf heard, in this strange interruption to his soliloquy, 
the voice of one of those demons who, as the superstition 
of the times believed, beset the beds of dying men, to dis¬ 
tract their thoughts, and turn them from the meditations 
which concerned their eternal welfare. He shuddered 
and drew himself together; but, instantly summoning up 
his wonted resolution, he exclaimed, “ Who is there ? — 
what • art thou, that darest to echo my words in a tone 
lik-2 that of the night raven ? — Come before my couch 
that I may see thee.” 

“ I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” 
replied the voice. 

“ Let me behold thee, then, in thy bodily shape, if thou 
be’st indeed a fiend,” replied the dying knight; “ think 
not that I will blench from thee. By the eternal dungeon, 
could 1 but grapple with these horrors that hover round 
me as I have done with mortal dangers, Heaven or Hell 
should never say that I shrunk from the conflict! ” 

“ Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said 
the almost unearthly voice — “ on rebellion, on rapine, on 
murder! Who stirred up the licentious John to war 
against his grey-headed father — against his generous 
brother ? ” 

“Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de- 
Boeuf, “thou liest in thy throat!—Hot I stirred John 
to rebellion — not I alone; there were fifty knights and 
barons, the flower of the midland counties, better men 
never laid lance in rest — and must I answer for the fault 
done by fifty ? False fiend, I defy thee ! Depart, and 
haunt my couch no more — let me die in peace if thou 
be mortal; if thou be a demon, thy time is not yet 
come.” 

“ In peace thou shalt not die,” repeated the voice; 


IVANHOE. 


313 


“ even in death shalt thou think on thy murders — on 
the groans which this castle has echoed — on the blood 
that is ingrained in its floors ! ” 

“ Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,” 
answered Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained 
laugh. “ The infidel Jew — it was merit with Heaven 
to deal with him as I did, else wherefore are men canon¬ 
ised who dip their hands in the blood of the Saracens ? —■ 
The Saxon porkers whom I have slain—they were the foes 
of my country, and of my lineage, and of my liege lord. 
Ho! ho ! thou seest there is no crevice in my coat of 
plate. Art thou fled ? art thou silenced ? ” 

“Ho, foul parricide ! ” replied the voice ; “ think of thy 
father ! — think of his death ! — think of his banquet- 
room flooded with his gore, and that poured forth by the 
hand of a son ! ” 

“ Ha! ” answered the Baron, after a long pause, “ an 
thou knowest that, thou art indeed the author of evil, 
and as omniscient as the monks call thee! That secret 
I deemed locked in my own breast, and in that of one 
besides — the temptress, the partaker of my guilt. — Go, 
leave me, fiend! and seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who 
alone could tell thee what she and I alone witnessed. — Go, 
I say, to her, who washed the wounds, and straightened 
the corpse, and gave to the slain man the outward show 
of one parted in time and in the course of nature. Go 
to her; she was my temptress, the foul provoker, the 
more foul rewarder, of the deed — let her, as well as I, 
taste of the tortures which anticipate Hell! ” 

“ She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping before 
the couch of Front-de-Boeuf; “she hath long drunken of 
this cup, and its bitterness is now sweetened to see that 
thou dost partake it. Grind not thy teeth, Front-de- 
Boeuf— roll not thine eyes — clench not thy hand, nor 
shake it at me with that gesture of menace! The hand 
which, like that of thy renowned ancestor who gained 
thy name, could have broken with one stroke the skull of 
a mountain-bull, is now unnerved and powerless as mine 
own! ” 

“ Vile, murderous hag! ” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “ de« 


314 


IVANHOE. 


testable screech-owl! it is then thou who art come to 
exult over the ruins thou hast assisted to lay low ? ” 

“ Ay, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” answered she, “ it is 
Ulrica! — it is the daughter of the murdered Torquil 
Wolfganger! — it is the sister of his slaughtered sons ! 
— it is she who demands of thee, and of thy father’s 
house, father and kindred, name and fame — all that she 
has lost by the name of Front-de-Boeuf! Think of my 
wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answer me if I speak not 
truth. Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will be 
thine — I will dog thee till the very instant of dissolution! ” 
“ Detestable fury! ” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “ that 
moment shalt thou never witness. Ho! G-iles, Clement, 
and Eustace! St. Maur and Stephen! seize this damned 
witch, and hurl her from the battlements headlong — 
she has betrayed us to the Saxon! Ho! St. Maur! 
Clement! false-hearted knaves, where tarry ye ? ” 

“ Call on them again, valiant baron,” said the hag, with 
a smile of grisly mockery; “ summon thy vassals around 
thee, doom them that loiter to the scourge and the 
dungeon — but know, mighty chief,” she continued, 
suddenly changing her tone, “thou shalt have neither 
answer, nor aid, nor obedience at their hands. Listen to 
these horrid sounds,” for the din of the recommenced 
assault and defence now rung fearfully loud from the 
battlements of the castle; " in that war-cry is the down¬ 
fall of thy house. The blood-cemented fabric of Front- 
de-Boeuf’s power totters to the foundation, and before the 
foes he most despised! The Saxon, Reginald ! — the 
scorned Saxon assails thy walls ! — Why liest thou here, 
like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon storms thy place 
of strength?” 

“ Gods and fiends! ” exclaimed the wounded knight. 
“ Oh, for one moment’s strength, to drag myself to the 
m£lee, and perish as becomes my name! ” 

“ Think not of it, valiant warrior! ” replied she; “ thou 
shalt die no soldier’s death, but perish like the fox in his 
den, when the peasants have set fire to the cover around 
it.” 

“ Hateful hag! thou liest! ” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf ; 


IVANHOE. 


31o 


" my followers bear them bravely — my walls are strong 
and high — my comrades in arms fear not a whole host 
of Saxons, were they headed by Hengist and Horsa! 
— The war-cry of the Templar and of the Free Com¬ 
panions rises high over the conflict! And by mine 
honour, when we kindle the blazing beacon for joy of our 
defence, it shall consume thee, body and bones; and I 
shall live to hear thou art gone from earthly fires to 
those of that Hell which never sent forth an incarnate 
fiend more utterly diabolical! ” 

“Hold thy belief/’replied Ulrica, “till the proof reach 
thee — But no ! ” she said, interrupting herself, “ thou 
shalt know even now the doom which all thy power, 
strength, and courage is unable to avoid, though it is 
prepared for thee by this feeble hand. Markest thou the 
smouldering and suffocating vapour which already eddies 
in sable folds through the chamber ? —Didst thou think 
it was but the darkening of thy bursting eyes, the diffi¬ 
culty of thy cumbered breathing? — Ho! Front-de- 
Boeuf, there is another cause. Kememberest thou the 
magazine of fuel that is stored beneath these apart¬ 
ments ? ” 

“ Woman!” he exclaimed with fury, “thou hast not set 
fire to it ? — By Heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in 
flames! ” 

“ They are fast rising at least,” said Ulrica, with 
frightful composure; “ and a signal shall soon wave to 
warn the besiegers to press hard upon those who would 
extinguish them. — Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf! May Mista, 
Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the ancient Saxons — 
fiends, as the priests now call them — supply the place 
of comforters at your dying bed, which Ulrica now 
relinquishes! But know, if it will give thee comfort to 
know it, that Ulrica is bound to the same dark coast as 
thyself, the companion of thy punishment as the com¬ 
panion of thy guilt. — And now, parricide, farewell for 
ever! May each stone of this vaulted roof find a tongue 
to echo that title into thine ear ! ” 

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Bceuf 
:could hear the crash of the ponderous key as she locked 


316 


JVANHOE. 


and double-locked the door behind her, thus cutting of? 
the most slender chance of escape. In the extremity of 
agony, he shouted upon his servants and allies : “ Stephen 
and St. Maur! Clement and Giles ! I burn here unaided! 
To the rescue — to the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, 
valiant De Bracy ! — It is Front-de-Boeuf who calls ! It is- 
your master, ye traitor squires! Your ally — your 
brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights! — all 
the curses due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do 
you abandon me to perish thus miserably ! They hear me 
not — they cannot hear me — my voice is lost in the din 
cf battle. The smoke rolls thicker and thicker, — the- 
fire has caught upon the floor below. Oh, for one draught 
of the air of heaven, were it to be purchased by instant, 
annihilation! ” And in the mad frenzy of despair, the- 
wretch now shouted with the shouts of the fighters, now 
muttered curses on himself, on mankind, and on Heaven 
itself. — “ The red fire flashes through the thick smoke ! ” 
he exclaimed; “ the demon marches against me under the- 
banner of his own element. Foul spirit, avoid! — I go» 
not with thee without my comrades — all, all are thine- 
that garrison these walls — Thinkest thou Front-de- 
Boeuf will be singled out to go alone ? Ho — the infidel 
Templar — the licentious De Bracy — Ulrica, the foul,, 
murdering strumpet — the men who aided my enter¬ 
prises— the dog Saxons and accursed Jews who are my 
prisoners — all, all shall attend me — a goodly fellowship 
as ever took the downward road. Ha, ha, ha ! ” and he 
laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. 
“ Who laughed there ? ” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, in 
altered mood, for the noise of the conflict did not prevent 
the echoes of his own mad laughter from returning upon 
his ear — “ who laughed there ? Ulrica, was it thou ? — 
Speak, witch, and I forgive thee — for only thou or the 
Fiend of Hell himself could have laughed at such a, 

moment. Avaunt — avaunt-! ” 

But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of 
the blasphemer and parricide’s death-bed. 



IVANHOE. 


31V 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, 

Or close the wall up with our English dead. 

. . . And you, good yeomen, 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture — let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding. 

King Henry V. 

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica’s mes¬ 
sage, omitted not to communicate her promise to the Black 
Knight and Locksley. They were well pleased to find 
they had a friend within the place, who might, in the 
moment of need, be able to facilitate their entrance, and 
readily agreed with the Saxon that a storm, under what¬ 
ever disadvantages, ought to be attempted, as the only 
means of liberating the prisoners now in the hands of the 
cruel Front-de-Boeuf. 

“ The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” said Cedric. 

“ The honour of a noble lady is in peril,” said the Black 
Knight. 

“ And, by the St. Christopher at my baldric,” said the 
good yeoman, “were there no other cause than the safety 
of that poor faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeopard a 
joint ere a hair of his head were hurt.” 

“ And so would I,” said the Friar; “ what, sirs ! I trust 
well that a fool — I mean, d’ye see me, sirs, a fool that 
is free of his guild and master of his craft, and can give 
as much relish and flavour to a cup of wine as ever a flitch 
of bacon can — I say, brethren, such a fool shall never 
want a wise clerk to pray for or fight for him at a strait, 
While I can say a mass or flourish a partizan.” 

And with that he made his heavy halberd to play around 
his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light crook. 

“ True, Holy Clerk,” said the Black Knight, “true as if 
St. Duns tan himself had said it. —And now, good Locks¬ 
ley, were it not well that noble Cedric should assume the 
direction of this assault ? ” 

“Not a jot I,” returned Cedric; “I have never been 


318 


IVANHOE. 


wont to study either how to take or how to hold out those 
abodes of tyrannic power which the Normans have erected 
in this groaning land. I will fight among the foremost; 
but my honest neighbours well know I am not a trained 
soldier in the discipline of wars or the attack of strong¬ 
holds.” 

“ Since it stands thus with noble Cedric/ 7 said Locks- 
ley, “ I am most willing to take on me the direction of 
the archery; and ye shall haug me up on my own try sting- 
tree an the defenders be permitted to show themselves 
over the walls without being stuck with as many shafts 
as there are cloves in a gammon of bacon at Christmas. 77 

“ Well said, stout yeoman/ 7 answered the Black Knight; 
u and if I be thought worthy to have a charge in these 
matters, and can find among these brave men as many as 
are willing to follow a true English knight, for so I may 
surely call myself, I am ready, with such skill as my 
experience has taught me, to lead them to the attack of 
these walls. 77 

The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they 
commenced the first assault, of which the reader has al¬ 
ready heard the issue. 

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent 
notice of the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at 
the same time to keep such a strict observation on the 
castle as might prevent the defenders from combining 
their force for a sudden sally, and recovering the outwork 
which they had lost. This the knight was chiefly desirous 
of avoiding, conscious that the men whom he led, being 
hasty and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armed and 
unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden attack, 
fight at great disadvantage with the veteran soldiers of 
the Norman knights, who were well provided with arms 
both defensive and offensive; and who, to match the zeal 
and high spirit of the besiegers, had all the confidence 
which arises from perfect discipline and the habitual use 
of weapons. 

The knight employed the interval in causing to be com 
structed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means 
of which he hoped to cross the moat in despite of the re* 


IVANHOE. 


319 


sistance of the enemy. This was the work of some time, 
which the leaders the less regretted, as it gave Ulrica 
leisure to execute her plan of diversion in their favour, 
whatever that might be. 

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight ad¬ 
dressed the besiegers : “ It avails not waiting here longer, 
my friends; the sun is descending to the west — and I 
have that upon my hands which will not permit me to 
tarry with you another day. Besides, it will be a marvel 
if the horsemen come not upon us from York, unless we 
speedily accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye 
go to Locksley, and bid him commence a discharge of 
arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and move for¬ 
ward as if about to assault it; and you, true English 
hearts, stand by me, and be ready to thrust the raft end¬ 
long over the moat whenever the postern on our side is 
thrown open. Eollow me boldly across, and aid me to 
burst yon sallyport in the main wall of the castle. As 
many of you as like not this service, qr are but ill armed 
to meet it, do you man the top of the outwork, draw your 
bowstrings to your ears, and mind you quell with your 
shot whatever shall appear to man the rampart. Noble 
Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those which 
remain ? ” 

“Not so, by the soul of Hereward!” said the Saxon; 
“ lead I cannot; but may posterity curse me in my grave, 
if I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt 
point the way. The quarrel is mine, and well it becomes 
me to be in the van of the battle.” 

“Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight, 
“ thou hast neither hauberk, nor corselet, nor aught but 
that light helmet, target, and sword.” 

« The better! ” answered Cedric; “ I shall be the lighter 
to climb these walls. And — forgive the boast, Sir Knight 
— thou shalt this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as 
boldly presented to the battle as ever ye beheld the steel 
corselet of a Norman.” 

«In the name of God, then,” said the knight, “ fling 
open the door, and launch the floating bridge.” 

The portal, which led from the inner wall of the bar- 


320 


IVANHOE. 


bican to the moat, and which corresponded with a sally¬ 
port in the main wall of the castle, was now suddenly 
opened; the temporary bridge was then thrust forward, 
and soon flashed in the waters, extending its length 
between the castle and outwork, and forming a slippery 
and precarious passage for two men abreast to cross the 
moat. Well aware of the importance of taking the foe 
by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, 
threw himself upon the bridge, and reached the opposite 
side. Here he began to thunder with his axe upon the 
gate of the castle, protected in part from the shot and 
stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the former 
drawbridge, which the Templar had demolished in his 
retreat from the barbican, leaving the counterpoise still 
attached to the upper part of the portal. The followers 
of the knight had no such shelter; two were instantly 
shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into the 
moat; the others retreated back into the barbican. 

The situation of ^Cedric and of the Black Knight was 
now truly dangerous, and would have been still more so 
but for the constancy of the archers in the barbican, who 
ceased not to shower their arrows upon the battlements, 
distracting the attention of those by whom they were 
manned, and thus affording a respite to their two chiefs 
from the storm of missiles which must otherwise have 
overwhelmed them. But their situation was eminently 
perilous, and was becoming more so with every moment. 

“ Shame on ye all! ” cried De Bracy to the soldiers 
around him; “do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and 
let these two dogs keep their station under the walls of 
the castle ? — Heave over the coping stones from the 
battlement, an better may not be — Get pickaxe and 
levers, and down with the huge pinnacle! ” pointing to a 
heavy piece of stone carved-work that projected from the 
parapet. 

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red 
flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica had de¬ 
scribed to Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksley was the 
first who was aware of it, as he was hasting to the out¬ 
work, impatient to see the progress of the assault. 


IVANHOE. 


321 


“ St. George ! 99 he cried — “ Merry St. George for Eng¬ 
land ! — To the charge, bold yeomen ! why leave ye the 
good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone ? —■ 
Make in, mad priest, show thou canst fight for thy ^osary 
— make in, brave yeomen!—the castle is ours, we have 
friends within — See yonder flag, it is the appointed 
signal — Torquilstone is ours ! Think of honour — think 
of spoil! One effort, and the place is ours! ” 

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right 
through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under 
De Bracy’s direction, was loosening a fragment from one 
of the battlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric 
and the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from 
the hands of the dying man the iron crow with which he 
heaved at and had loosened the stone pinnacle, when, re¬ 
ceiving an arrow through his head-piece, he dropped from 
the battlements into the moat a dead man. The men-at- 
arms were daunted, for no armour seemed proof against 
the shot of this tremendous archer. 

“ Do you give ground, base knaves! ” said De Bracy; 
* Mount joye St. Denis ! Give me the lever! ” 

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened 
pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, 
not only to have destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge 
which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to 
have sunk the rude float of planks over which they had 
crossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest, even the 
stout Eriar himself, avoided setting foot on the raft. 
Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy, and 
thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight’s armour 
of proof. 

“Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!” said Locksley, 
“had English smith forged it, these arrows had gone 
through, an as if it had been silk or sendal.” He then 
began to call out, “ Comrades! friends! noble Cedric! bear 
back and let the ruin fall.” 

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the 
knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern 
would have drowned twenty war trumpets. The faithful 
Gurth indeed sprung forward on the planked bridge, to 


322 


IVANHOE. 


warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with 
him. But his warning would have come too late; the 
massive pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who 
still heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, had 
not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his ear: 

“ All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns.” 

“ Thou art mad to say so! ” replied the knight. 

“It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have 
striven in vain to extinguish it.” 

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his 
character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hide¬ 
ous intelligence, which was nqj so calmly received by his 
astonished comrade. 

“ Saints of Paradise! ” said De Bracy; “ what is to be 
done ? I vow to St. Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of 
pure gold-” 

“ Spare thy vow,” said the Templar, “ and mark me. 
Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throw the postern 
gate open — There are but two men who occupy the float, 
fling them into the moat, and push across for the barbican. 
I will charge from the main gate, and attack the barbican 
on the outside; and if we can regain that post, be assured 
we shall defend ourselves until we are relieved, or at least 
till they grant us fair quarter.” 

“ It is well thought upon,” said De Bracy; “ I will play 
my part. Templar, thou wilt not fail me ? ” 

“ Hand and glove, I will not! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 
“ But haste thee, in the name of God! ” 

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed 
down to the postern gate, which he caused instantly to be 
thrown open. But scarce was this done ere the portentous 
strength of the Black Knight forced his way inward in 
despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the fore¬ 
most instantly fell, and the rest gave way notwithstanding 
all their leader’s efforts to stop them. 

“ Dogs! ” said De Bracy, “ will ye let two men win our 
only pass for safety ? ” 

“He is the devil!” saida veteran man-at-arms, bearing 
back from the blows of their sable antagonist. 

“ And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy, “ would 



IVANHOE. 


323 


you fly from him into the mouth of Hell ? — the castle 
burns behind us villains ! — let despair give you courage, 
or let me forward! I will cope with this champion 
myself.” 

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day main¬ 
tain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that 
dreadful period. The vaulted passage to which the 
postern gave entrance, and in which these two redoubted 
champions were now fighting hand to hand, rung with the 
furious blows which they dealt each other, De Bracy with 
his sword, the Black Knight with his ponderous axe. At 
length the Norman received a blow which, though its force 
was partly parried by his shield, for otherwise never more 
would De Bracy have again moved limb, descended yet 
with such violence on his crest that he measured his 
length on the paved floor. 

“ Yield thee, De Bracy,” said the Black Champion, 
stooping over him, and holding against the bars of his 
helmet the fatal poniard with which the knights dis¬ 
patched their enemies, (and which was called the dagger 
of mercy) — “yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no 
rescue, or thou art but a dead man.” 

“ I will not yield,” replied De Bracy, faintly, “ to an 
unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy 
pleasure on me — it shall never be said that Maurice de 
Bracy w r as prisoner to a nameless churl.” 

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of 
the vanquished. 

“ I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,” 
answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and 
determined obstinacy for one of deep though sullen sub¬ 
mission. 

“Go to the barbican,” said the victor, in a tone of 
authority, “ and there wait my further orders.”. 

“ Yet first let me say,” said De Bracy, “ what it imports 
thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a 
prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle without 
present help.” 

“Wilfred of Ivanhoe ! ” exclaimed the Black Knight — 
• ( prisoner, and perish! The life of every man in the 


324 


IVAN HOE. 


castle shall answer it if a hair of his head be singed — 
Show me his chamber ! ” 

“ Ascend yonder winding stair,” said De Bracy; “It 
leads to his apartment. Wilt thou not accept my guid¬ 
ance ? ” he added, in a submissive voice. 

“No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I 
trust thee not, De Bracy.” 

During this combat and the brief conversation which 
ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among 
whom the Friar was conspicuous, had pushed across the 
bridge as soon as they saw the postern open, and drove 
back the dispirited and despairing followers of De Bracy, 
of whom some asked quarter, some offered vain resistance, 
and the greater part fled towards the courtyard. De 
Bracy himself arose from the ground, and cast a sorrow¬ 
ful glance after his conqueror. “ He trusts me not! ” he 
repeated; “ but have I deserved his trust ? ” He then 
lifted his sword from the floor, took off his helmet in 
token of submission, and, going to the barbican, gave up 
his sword to Locksley, whom he met by the way. 

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon 
apparent in the chamber where Ivanhoe was watched and 
tended by the Jewess Bebecca. He had been awakened 
from his brief slumber by the noise of the battle; and 
his attendant, who had, at his anxious desire, again placed 
herself at the window to watch and report to him the 
fate of the attack, was for some time prevented from 
observing either, by the increase of the smouldering and 
stifling vapour. At length the volumes of smoke which 
rolled into the apartment, the cries for water, which were 
heard even above the din of the battle, made them sen¬ 
sible of the progress of this new danger. 

“ The castle burns,” said Kebecca, “ it burns ! What 
can we do to save ourselves ? ” 

“ Fly, Bebecca, and save thine own life,” said Ivanhoe, 
* for no human aid can avail me.” 

“ I will not fly,” answered Bebecca; “ we will be saved 
nr perish together. And yet, great God I my father — 
<ny father, what will be his fate ? ” 


IVAN HOE. 


325 


At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, 
and the Templar presented himself—a ghastly figure, 
for his gilded armour was broken and bloody, and the 
plume was partly shorn away, partly burnt from his 
casque. “ I have found thee,’ 7 said he to Eebecca; 
“thou shalt prove I will keep my word to share weal 
and woe with thee. There is but one path to safety; 
I have cut my way through fifty dangers to point it to 
thee — up, and instantly follow me ! 77 

“ Alone, 77 answered Eebecca, “ I will not follow thee. 
If thou wert born of woman — if thou hast but a touch 
of human charity in thee — if thy heart be not hard 
as thy breastplate — save my aged father — save this 
wounded knight! 77 

“ A knight, 77 answered the Templar, with his charac¬ 
teristic calmness — “a knight, Eebecca, must encounter 
his fate, whether it meet him in the shape of sword or 
flame; and who recks how or where a Jew meets with 
his ? 77 

“ Savage warrior, 77 said Eebecca, “ rather will I perish 
in the flames than accept safety from thee! 77 

“ Thou shalt not choose, Eebecca; once didst thou foil 
me, but never mortal did so twice. 77 

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled 
the air with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room 
in his arms, in spite of her cries, and without regarding 
the menaces and defiance which Ivanhoe thundered 
against him. “Hound of the Temple — stain to thine 
Order — set free the damsel! Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, 
it is Ivanhoe commands thee! — villain, I will have thy 
heart’s blood! 77 

“ I had not found thee, Wilfred, 77 said the Black 
Knight, who at that instant entered the apartment, “ but 
for thy shouts. 77 

“If thou be’st true knight, 77 said Wilfred, “think 
not of me — pursue yon ravisher — save the Lady Eow- 
ena — look to the noble Cedric! 77 

“ In their turn, 77 answered he of the Fetterlock, “ but 
thine is first. 77 

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as 


326 


I VAN HOE. 


much ease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca, 
rushed with him to the postern, and having there de¬ 
livered his burden to the care of two yeomen, he again 
entered the castle to assist in the rescue of the other 
prisoners. 

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed 
out furiously from window and shot-hole. But in other 
parts the great thickness of the walls and the vaulted 
roofs of the apartments resisted the progress of the 
flames, and there the rage of man still triumphed, as 
the scarce more dreadful element held mastery else¬ 
where; for the besiegers pursued the defenders of the 
castle from chamber to chamber, and satiated in their 
blood the vengeance which had long animated them 
against the soldiers of the tyrant Front-de-Boeuf. Most 
of the garrison resisted to the uttermost — few of them 
asked quarter — none received it. The air was filled 
with groans and clashing of arms — the floors were 
slippery with the blood of despairing and expiring 
wretches. 

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in 
quest of Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following 
him closely through the m&lee, neglected his own safety 
while he strove to avert the blows that were aimed at 
his master. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to 
reach his ward’s apartment just as she had abandoned 
all hope of safety, and, with a crucifix clasped in agony 
to her bosom, sat in expectation of instant death. He 
committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be conducted 
in safety to the barbican, the road to which was now 
cleared of the enemy, and not yet interrupted by the 
flames. This accomplished, the loyal Cedric hastened 
m quest of his friend Athelstane, determined, at every 
risk to himself, to save that last scion of Saxon royalty. 
But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall in which 
he had himself been a prisoner, the inventive genius of 
Wamba had procured liberation for himself and his 
companion in adversity. 

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was 
at the hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the 


IVANHOE. 


327 


utmost power of his lungs, “ St. George and the dragon! 
— bonny St. George for merry England —the castle is 
won! ” And these sounds he rendered yet more fearful 
by banging against each other two or three pieces of 
rusty armour which lay scattered around the hall. 

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer or 
ante-room, and whose spirits were already in a state of 
alarm, took fright at Wamba’s clamour, and leaving the 
door open behind them, ran to tell the Templar that 
foemen had entered the old hall. Meantime the pris¬ 
oners found no difficulty in making their escape into the 
ante-room, and from thence into the court of the castle, 
which was now the last scene of contest. Here sat the 
fierce Templar, mounted on horseback, surrounded by 
several of the garrison both on horse and foot, who had 
united their strength to that of this renowned leader, in 
order to secure the last chance of safety and retreat 
which remained to them. The drawbridge had been 
lowered by his orders, but the passage was beset; for 
the archers, who had hitherto only annoyed the castle 
on that side by their missiles, no sooner saw the flames 
breaking out, and the bridge lowered, than they thronged 
to the entrance, as w r ell to prevent the escape of the 
garrison as to secure their own share of booty ere the 
castle should be burnt down. On the other hand, a party 
of the besiegers, who had entered by the postern,were now 
issuing out into the courtyard, and attacking with fury 
the remnant of the defenders, who were thus assaulted 
on both sides at once. 

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the 
example of their indomitable leader, the remaining 
soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valour; 
and, being well armed, succeeded more than once in 
driving back the assailants, though much inferior in 
numbers. Rebecca, placed on horseback before one of 
the Templar’s Saracen slaves, was in the midst of the 
little party; and Bois-Guilbert, notwithstanding the con¬ 
fusion of the bloody fray, showed every attention to her 
safety. Repeatedly he was by her side, and neglecting 
his own defence, held before her the fence of his tri- 


328 


IVANHOE. 


angular steel-plated shield; and anon starting from his 
position by her, he cried his war-cry, dashed forward, 
struck to earth the most forward of the assailants, 
and was on the same instant once more at her bridle 
rein. 

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, 
but not cowardly, beheld the female form whom the 
Templar protected thus sedulously, and doubted not that 
it was Rowena whom the knight was carrying off, in 
despite of all resistance which could be offered. 

“ By the soul of St. Edward/’ he said, “ I will rescue 
her from yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by 
my hand! ” 

“Think what you do!” cried Wamba; “hasty hand 
catches frog for fish — by my bauble, yonder is none of 
my Lady Rowena, — see but her long dark locks ! Nay, an 
ye will not know black from white, ye may be leader, 
but I will be no follower — no bones of mine shall be 
broken unless I know' for whom. And you without 
armour too! — bethink you, silk bonnet never kept out 
steel blade.— Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful 
must drench. Deus vobiscum, most doughty Athelstane! ” 
he concluded, loosening the hold which he had hitherto 
kept upon the Saxon’s tunic. 

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay 
beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquished it. 
to rush on the Templar’s band, and to strike in quick 
succession to the right and left, levelling a warrior at 
each blow, was*, for Athelstane’s great strength, now 
animated with unusual fury, but the work of a single 
moment; he was soon within two yards of Bois-G-uilbert, 
whom he defied in his loudest tone. 

“ Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou 
art unworthy to touch — turn, limb of a band of murder¬ 
ing and hypocritical robbers ! ” 

“Dog!” said the Templar, grinding his teeth, “I will 
teach thee to blaspheme the holy order of the Temple 
of Zion ” ; and with these words, half-wheeling his steed, 
he made a demi-courbette towards the Saxon, and rising 
in the stirrups, so as to take full advantage of the descent 





























IVANHOE. 


329 


of the horse, he discharged a fearful blow upon the head 
of Athelstane. 

Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out 
no steel blade! So trenchant was the Templar’s 
weapon, that it shore asunder, as it had been a willow 
twig, the tough and plated handle of the mace which 
the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry the blow, and, de¬ 
scending on his head, levelled him with the earth. 

“ Ha ! Beau-seant ! ” exclaimed Bois-G-uilbert, “ thus 
be it to the maligners of the Temple knights ! ” Taking 
advantage of the dismay which was spread by the fall of 
Athelstane, and calling aloud, “ Those who would save 
themselves, follow me! ” he pushed across the draw¬ 
bridge, dispersing the archers who would have intercepted 
them. He was followed by his Saracens, and some five 
or six men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The 
Templar’s retreat was rendered perilous by the numbers 
of arrows shot off at him and his party; but this did 
not prevent him from galloping round to the barbican, 
of which, according to his previous plan, he supposed it 
possible De Bracy might have been in possession. 

“ De Bracy ! De Bracy ! ” he shouted, “■ art thou there ? ” 

“ I am here,” replied De Bracy, “ but I am a prisoner.” 

“ Can I rescue thee ? ” cried Bois-G-uilbert. 

“ Ho,” replied De Bracy; “ I have rendered me, rescue 
or no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save thyself — 
there are hawks abroad — put the seas betwixt you and 
England; I dare not say more.” 

“ Well, ” answered the Templar, “ an thou wilt tarry 
there, remember I have redeemed word and glove. Be 
the hawks where they will, methinks the walls of the 
Preceptory of Templestowe will be cover sufficient, and 
thither will I, like heron to her haunt.” 

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers. 

Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still 
continued to fight desperately with the besiegers, after 
the departure of the Templar, but rather in despair of 
quarter than that they entertained any hope of escape. 
The fire was spreading rapidly through all parts of the 
castle, when Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared 


330 


IVANHOE. 


on a turret, in the guise of one of the ancient furies, 
yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore raised on 
the field of, battle by the scalds of the yet heathen Saxons. 
Her long, dishevelled grey hair flew back from her un¬ 
covered head; the inebriating delight of gratified ven¬ 
geance contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; 
and she brandished the distaff which she held in her 
hand, as if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters who 
spin and abridge the thread of human life. Tradition 
has preserved some wild strophes of the barbarous hymn 
which she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire and 
of slaughter: 

Whet the bright steel, 

Sons of the White Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of Hengist! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling 1 
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist! 

The black cloud is low over the thane’s castle; 

The eagle screams — he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud, 

Thy banquet is prepared 1 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth, 

The race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla ! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy ! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed head. 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle, 

The black clouds gather round ; 

Soon snail they be red as the blood of the valiant! 

The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them. 

He, the bright consumer of palaces, 

Broad waves he his blazing banner; 

Red, wide, and dusky, 

Over the strife of the valiant: 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound' 


IVANHOE. 


331 


All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet; 

The strong armour is pierced by the lance; 

Tire devoureth the dwelling of princes ; 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish ! 

The race of Hengist is gone — 

The name of Horsa is no more ! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword ! 

Let your blades drink blood like wine ; 

Eeast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 

By the light of the blazing halls ! 

Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, 

And spare neither for pity nor fear, 

For vengeance hath but an hour; 

Strong hate itself shall expire 1 
1 also must perish 1 

The towering flames had now surmounted every ob¬ 
struction, and rose to the evening skies one huge and 
burning beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent 
country. Tower after tower crashed down, with blazing 
roof and rafter; and the combatants were driven from 
the courtyard. The vanquished, of whom very few re¬ 
mained, scattered and escaped into the neighbouring wood. 
The victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with won¬ 
der, not unmixed with fear, upon the flames, in which 
their own ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The ma¬ 
niac figure of the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visi¬ 
ble on the lofty stand she had chosen, tossing her arms 
abroad with wild exultation, as if she reigned empress 
of the conflagration which she had raised. At length, 
with a terrific crash, the whole turret gave way, and she 
perished in the flames which had consumed her tyrant. 
An awful pause of horror silenced each murmur of the 
aimed spectators, who, for the space of several minutes, 
stirred not a finger, save to sign the cross. The voice of 
Locksley was then heard: “ Shout, yeomen! the den of 
tyrants is no more! Let each bring his spoil to our 
chosen place of rendezvous at the trysting-tree in the 
Harthill Walk; for there at break of day will we make 
just partition among our own bands, together with oul 
worthy allies in this great deed of vengeance.” 


332 


IVANHOE, 


CHAPTEB XXXII. 

Trust me, each state must have its policies : 

Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters; 

Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk, 

Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline; 

For not since Adam wore his verdant apron, 

Hath man with man in social union dwelt, 

But laws were made to draw that union closer. 

Old Play. 

The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak 
forest. The green boughs glittered with all their pearls 
of dew. The hind led her fawn from the covert of high 
fern to the more open walks of the greenwood, and no 
huntsman was there to watch or intercept the stately 
hart, as he paced at the head of the antlered Irnrd. 

The outlaws were all assembled around the trysting- 
tree in the Harthill Walk, where they had spent the 
night in refreshing themselves after the fatigues of the 
siege —some with wine, some with slumber, many with 
hearing and recounting the events of the day, and com¬ 
puting the heaps of plunder which their success had 
placed at the disposal of their chief. 

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstand¬ 
ing that much was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich 
armour, and splendid clothing had been secured by the 
exertions of the dauntless outlaws, who could be 
appalled by no danger when such rewards were in view. 
Yet so strict were the laws of their society, that no one 
ventured to appropriate any part of the booty, which 
was brought into one common mass, to be at the disposal 
of their leader. 

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not, how¬ 
ever, the same to which Locksley had conducted G-urth 
and Wamba in the earlier part of the story, but one 
which was the centre of a silvan amphitheatre, within 
half a mile of the demolished castle of Torquilstone. 
Here Locksley assumed his seat — a throne of turf 
erected under the twisted branches of the huge oak, and 


IVANHOE. 


333 


the silvan followers were gathered aronnd him. He 
assigned to the Black Knight a seat at his right hand, 
and to Cedric a place upon his left. 

“Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,” he said, “but in 
these glades I am monarch — they are my kingdom ; and 
these my wild subjects would reck but little of my power, 
were I, within my own dominions, to yield place to mor¬ 
tal man. Now, sirs, who hath seen our chaplain ? where 
is our curtal Priar ? A mass amongst Christian men best 
begins a busy morning.” No one had seen the Clerk of 
Copmanhurst. “Over God’s forbode!” said the cyiitlaw 
chief, “I trust the jolly priest hath but abidden by the 
wine-pot a thought too late. Who saw him since the 
castle was ta’en ?” 

“ I,” quoth the Miller, “ marked him busy about the 
door of a cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar 
he would taste the smack of Front-de-Boeuf’s Gascoigne 
wine.” 

“Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,” said 
the captain, “ forefend, lest he has drunk too deep of the 
wine-butts, and perished by the fall of the castle! — 
Away, Miller! — take with you enow of men, seek the 
place where you last saw him—throw water from the 
moat on the scorching ruins; I will have them removed 
stone by stone ere I lose my curtal Friar.” 

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, con¬ 
sidering that an interesting division of spoil was about to 
take place, showed how much the troop had at heart the 
safety of their spiritual father. 

“Meanwhile, let us proceed,” said Locksley; “for when 
this bold deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands of De 
Bracy, of Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de-Boeuf, 
will be in motion against us, and it were well for our 
safety that we retreat from the vicinity. Noble. Cedric,” 
he said, turning to the Saxon, “ that spoil' is divided into 
two portions; do thou make choice of that which best 
suits thee, to recompense thy people who were partakers 
with us in this adventure.” 

“ Good yeoman,” said Cedric, “ my heart is oppressed 
with sadness. The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh is 


334 


IVANHOE. 


no more — the last sprout of the sainted Confessor! 
Hopes have perished with him which can never return ! 

— A sparkle hath been quenched by his blood which no 
human breath can again rekindle ! My people, save the 
few who are now with me, do but tarry my presence to 
transport his honoured remains to their last mansion. The 
Lady E-owena is desirous to return to Rotherwood, and 
must be escorted by a sufficient force. I should, there¬ 
fore, ere now have left this place; and I waited, not to 
share the booty, for, so help me God and St. Withold! as 
neither I nor any of mine will touch the value of a liard 

— I waited but to render my thanks to thee and to thy 
bold yeomen, for the life and honour ye have saved.” 

“Nay, but,” said the chief outlaw, “we did but half 
the work at most—take of the spoil what may reward your 
own neighbours and followers.”' 

“ I am rich enough to reward them from mine own 
wealth,” answered Cedric. 

“And some,” said Wamba, “ have been wise enough to 
reward themselves ; they do not march off empty-handed 
altogether. We do not all wear motley.” 

“They are welcome,” said Locksley; “our laws bind 
none but ourselves.” 

“ But thou, my poor knave,” said Cedric, turning about 
and embracing his Jester, “ how shall I reward thee, who 
feared not to give thy body to chains and death instead of 
mine ? All forsook me, when the poor fool was faithful! ” 

A tear stood in the eye of the rough thane as he spoke 
•— a mark of feeling which even the death of Athelstane 
had not. extracted; but there was something in the half- 
instinctive attachment of his clown that waked his nature 
more keenly than even grief itself. 

“ Nay,” said the Jester, extricating himself from his 
master’s caress, “ if you pay my service with the water 
of your eye, the Jester must weep for company, and then 
what becomes of his vocation ? s — But, uncle, if you would 
indeed pleasure me, I pray you to pardon my playfellow 
Gurth, who stole a week from your service to bestow it 
un your son.” 

“ Pardon him!” exclaimed Cedric; “ I will both pardon 


IVAN HOE. 


335 


and reward him. Kneel down, Gurth."—The swineherd 
was in an instant at his master's feet. — “ Theow and 
Esne art thou no longer," said Cedric, touching him with 
a wand; “ Folkfree and Sacless art thou in town and 
from town, in the forest as in the field. A hide of land 
I give to thee in my steads of Walbrugham, from me and 
mine to thee and thine aye and for ever; and God’s 
malison cn his head who this gainsays! ’’ 

No longer a serf but a freeman and a landholder, Gurth 
sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost 
his own height from the ground. 

“ A smith and a file," he cried, “ to do away the collar 
from the neck of a freeman! — Noble master! doubled 
is my strength by your gift, and doubly will I fight for 
you! — There is a free spirit in my breast. I am a man 
changed to myself and all around. Ha, Fangs! " he con¬ 
tinued,— for that faithful cur, seeing his master thus 
transported, began to jump upon him to express his sym¬ 
pathy, — “knowest thou thy master still ? " 

“Ay," said Wamba, “Fangs and I still know thee, 
Gurth, though we must needs abide by the collar; it is 
only thou art likely to forget both us and thyself." 

“ I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true 
comrade," said Gurth; “and were freedom fit for thee 
Wamba, the master would not let thee want it." 

“ Nay," said Wamba, “ never think I envy thee, brother- 
Gurth; the serf sits by the hall fire when the freeman 
must forth to the field of battle. And what saith Ald- 
helm of Malmsbury — ‘ Better a fool at a feast than a 
wise man at a fray.’" 

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady 
Rowena appeared, surrounded by several riders, and a 
much stronger party of footmen, who joyfully shook their 
pikes and clashed their brown-bills for joy of her freedom. 
She herself, richly attired, and mounted on a dark chest¬ 
nut palfrey, had recovered all the dignity of her manner, 
and only an unwonted degree of paleness showed the 
sufferings she had undergone. Her lovely brow, though 
sorrowful, bore on it a cast of reviving hope for the 
future, as well as a grateful thankfulness for the past 


336 


IVANHOE. 


deliverance. She knew that Ivanhoe was safe, and she 
knew that Athelstane was dead. The former assurance 
tilled her with the most sincere delight; and if she did 
not absolutely rejoice at the latter, she might be pardoned 
for feeling the full advantage of being freed from further 
persecution on the only subject in which she had ever 
been contradicted by her guardian Cedric. 

As Eowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, that 
bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, 
as if by a general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose 
to her cheeks as, courteously waving her hand, and bend¬ 
ing so low that her beautiful and loose tresses were for 
an instant mixed with the flowing mane of her palfrey, 
she expressed in few but apt words her obligations and 
her gratitude to Locksley and her other deliverers. “ God 
bless you, brave men, 5 ’ she concluded — “God and Our 
Lady bless you and requite you for gallantly perilling 
yourselves in the cause of the oppressed! If any of you 
should hunger, remember Eowena has food — if you 
should thirst, she has many a butt of wine and brown 
ale—and if the Normans drive ye from these walks, 
Eowena has forests of her own, where her gallant deliv¬ 
erers may range at full freedom, and never ranger ask 
whose arrow hath struck down the deer.” 

“ Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley — “ thanks from 
my company and myself. But to have saved you re¬ 
quites itself. We who walk the greenwood do many a 
wild deed, and the Lady Eowena’s deliverance may be 
received as an atonement.” 

Again bowing from her palfrey, Eowena turned to 
depart; but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was 
to attend her, was also taking his leave, she found herself 
unexpectedly close by the prisoner De Bracy. He stood 
under a tree in deep meditation, his arms crossed upon 
his breast, and Eowena was in hopes she might pass him 
unobserved. He looked up, however, and, when aware 
of her presence, a deep flush of shame suffused his hand¬ 
some countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute; 
then, stepping forward, took her palfrey by the rein and 
bent his knee before her. 


JVANHOE. 


337 


te Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye on a cap^ 
tive knight — on a dishonoured soldier ? ” 

“Sir Knight,” answered Rowena, “in enterprises such 
as yours, the real dishonour lies not in failure, but in 
success.” 

“ Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” answered 
De Bracy; “Let me but know that the Lady Rowena 
forgives the violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, 
and she shall soon learn that De Bracy knows how to 
serve her in nobler ways.” 

“ I forgivs you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “ as a 
Christian.” 

“That means,” said Wamba, “that she does not for¬ 
give him at all.” 

“ But I can never forgive the misery and desolation 
your madness has occasioned,” continued Rowena. 

“Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,” said Cedric, 
coming up. “ By the bright sun above us, but it were 
shame, I would pin thee to the earth with my javelin; 
but be well assured, thou shalt smart, Maurice de Bracy, 
for thy share in this foul deed.” 

“ He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,” said 
De Bracy; “ but when had a Saxon any touch of cour¬ 
tesy ? ” 

Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the 
lady to move on. 

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar grati¬ 
tude to the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated him 
to accompany him to Rotherwood. 

“ I know,” he said, “ that ye errant knights desire to 
carry your fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck 
not of land or goods; but war is a changeful mistress, 
and a home is sometimes desirable even to the champion 
whose trade is wandering. Thou hast earned one in the 
halls of Rotherwood, noble knight. Cedric has wealth 
enough to repair the injuries of fortune, and all he has 
is his deliverer’s. Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, not as 
a guest, but as a son or brother.” 

“Cedric has already made me rich,” said the Knight; 
“he has taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To 
z 


338 


IVANHOE. 


Rotherwood will I come, brave Saxon, and that speedily^ 
but, as now, pressing matters of moment detain me from 
your halls. Peradventure, when I come hither, I will 
ask such a boon as will put even thy generosity to the 
test.” 

“It is granted ere spoken out,” said Cedric, striking 
his ready hand into the gauntleted palm of the Black 
Knight — “it is granted already, were it to affect half 
my fortune.” 

“ Gage not thy promise so lightly,” said the Knight of 
the Fetterlock; “ yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall 
ask. Meanwhile, adieu.” 

“I have but to say,” added the Saxon, “that, during 
the funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an 
inhabitant of the halls of his castle of Coningsburgh — 
They will be open to all who choose to partake of the 
funeral banqueting; and — I speak in name of the noble 
Edith, mother of the fallen prince — they will never be 
shut against him who laboured so bravely, though unsuc¬ 
cessfully, to save Athelstane from Norman chains and 
Norman steel.” 

“Ay, ay,” said Wamba, who had resumed his attend¬ 
ance on his master, “rare feeding there will be — pity 
that the noble Athelstane cannot banquet at his own 
funeral. But he,” continued the Jester, lifting up his 
eyes gravely, “ is supping in Paradise, and doubtless does 
honour to the cheer.” 

“ Peace, and move on,” said Cedric, his anger at this 
untimely jest being checked by the recollection of Wam- 
ba’s recent services. Rowena waved a graceful adieu to 
him of the Fetterlock, the Saxon bade God speed him, 
and on they moved through a wide glade of the forest. 

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession 
moved from under the greenwood branches, swept slowly 
round the silvan amphitheatre, and took the same direc¬ 
tion with Rowena and her followers. The priests of a 
neighbouring convent, in expectation of the ample dona¬ 
tion, or “ soul-scat,” which Cedric had propined, attended 
upon the car in which the body of Athelstane was laid, 
and sang hymns as it was sadly and slowly borne on the 


IVANHOE. 


339 


shoulders of his vassals to his castle of Coningsburgh, to 
be there deposited in the grave of Hengist, from whom 
the deceased derived his long descent. Many of his vas¬ 
sals had assembled at the news of his death, and followed 
the bier with all the external marks, at least, of dejection 
and sorrow. Again the outlaws arose, and paid the same 
rude and spontaneous homage to death which they had 
so lately rendered to beauty; the slow chant and mourn¬ 
ful step of the priests brought back to their remembrance 
such of their comrades as had fallen in the yesterday’s 
affray. But such recollections dwell not long with those 
who lead a life of danger and enterprise, and ere the 
sound of the death hymn had died on the wind, the out¬ 
laws were again busied in the distribution of their spoil. 

“ Valiant knight,” said Locksley to the Black Cham¬ 
pion, “ without whose good heart and mighty arm our 
enterprise must altogether have failed, will it please you 
to take from that mass of spoil whatever may best serve 
to pleasure you, and to remind you of this my Trysting- 
tree ? ” 

“ I accept the offer,” said the Knight, “ as frankly as 
it is given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice 
de Bracy at my own pleasure.” 

“He is thine already,” said Locksley, “and well for 
him! else the tyrant had graced the highest bough of this 
oak, with as many of his Free Companions as we could 
gather, hanging thick as acorns around him. — But he is 
thy prisoner, and he is safe, though he had slain my 
father.” 

“ De Bracy,” said the Knight, “ thou art free — depart. 
He whose prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge 
for what is past. But beware of the future, lest a worse 
thing befall thee. — Maurice de Bracy, I say beware ! ” 

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to 
withdraw, when the yeomen burst at once into a shout of 
execration and derision. The proud knight instantly 
stopped, turned back, folded his arms, drew up his form 
to its full height, and exclaimed, “ Peace, ye yelping curs ! 
who open upon a cry which ye followed not when the 
Btag was at bay — De Bracy scorns your censure as he 


340 


IVANHOE. 


would disdain your applause. To your brakes and 
caves, ye outlawed thieves! and be silent when aught 
knightly or noble is but spoken within a league of your 
fox-earths.” 

This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De 
Bracy a volley of arrows, but for the hasty and impera¬ 
tive interference of the outlaw Chief. Meanwhile, the 
knight caught a horse by the rein, for several which had 
been taken in the stables of Front-de-Boeuf stood accou¬ 
tred around, and were a valuable part of the booty. He 
threw himself upon the saddle, and galloped off through 
the wood. 

When the bustle occasioned by this incident was some¬ 
what composed, the chief outlaw took from his neck the 
rich horn and baldric which he had recently gained at 
the strife of archery near Ashby. 

“ Noble knight,” he said to him of the Fetterlock, “ if 
you disdain not to grace by your acceptance a bugle 
which an English yeoman has once worn, this I will pray 
you to keep as a memorial of your gallant bearing; and 
if ye have aught to do, and, as happen eth oft to a gallant 
knight, ye chance to be hard bested in any forest between 
Trent and Tees, wind three mots upon the horn thus, Wa- 
sa-hoa ! and it may well chance ye shall find helpers and 
rescue.” 

He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once 
and again the call which he described, until the Knight 
had caught the notes. 

“ G-ramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,” said the 
Knight; “and better help than thine and thy rangers’ 
would I never seek, were it at my utmost need.” And 
then in his turn he winded the call till all the greenwood 
rang. 

“ Well blown and clearly,” said the yeoman; “ beshrew 
me an thou knowest not as much of woodcraft as of war! 
Thou hast been a striker of deer in thy day, I warrant. — 
Comrades, mark these three mots — it is the call of the 
Knight of the Fetterlock ; and he who hears it, and hastens 
not to serve him at his need, I will have him scourged out 
of our band with his own bowstring.” 


IVANHOE. 


841 


“Long live our leader!” shouted the yeomen, “and 
long live the Black Knight of the Fetterlock! May he 
soon use our service to prove how readily it will be paid.” 

Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the spoil, 
which he performed with the most laudable impartiality. 
A tenth part of the whole was set apart for the church 
and for pious uses; a portion was next allotted to a sort 
of public treasury; a part was assigned to the widows 
and children of those who had fallen, or to be expended 
in masses for the souls of such as had left no surviving 
family. The rest was divided amongst the outlaws, ac¬ 
cording to their rank and merit; and the judgment of the 
chief, on all such doubtful questions as occurred, was de¬ 
livered with great shrewdness, and received with absolute 
submission. The Black Knight was not a little surprised 
to find that men in a state so lawless were nevertheless 
among themselves so regularly and equitably governed, 
and all that he observed added to his opinion of the jus¬ 
tice and judgment of their leader. 

When each had taken his own proportion of the booty, 
and while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeo¬ 
men, was transporting that belonging to the state to some 
place of concealment or of security, the portion devoted 
to the church still remained unappropriated. 

“ I would,” said the leader, “we could hear tidings of 
our joyous chaplain — he was never wont to be absent 
when meat was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted; and 
it is his duty to take care of these the tithes of our suc¬ 
cessful enterprise. It may be the office has helped to 
cover some of his canonical irregularities. Also, I have 
a holy brother of his a prisoner at no great distance, and 
I would fain have the Friar to help me to deal with him 
in due sort. — I greatly misdoubt the safety of the bluff 
priest.” 

“ I were right sorry for that,” said the Knight of the 
Fetterlock, “ for I stand indebted to him for the joyous 
hospitality of a merry night in his cell. Let us to the 
ruins of the castle; it may be we shall there learn some 
tidings of him.” 

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeo- 


342 


IVANHOE . 


men announced the arrival of him for whom they feared, 
as they learned from the stentorian voice of the Friai 
himself, long before they saw his burly person. 

“ Make room, my merry men! ” he exclaimed — “ room 
for your godly father and his prisoner. Cry welcome 
once more. — I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my 
prey in my clutch.” And making his way through the 
ring, amidst the laughter of all around, he appeared in 
majestic triumph, his huge partisan in one hand, and in 
the other a halter, one end of which was fastened to the 
neck of the unfortunate Isaac of York, who, bent down 
by sorrow and terror, was dragged on by the victorious 
priest, who shouted aloud, “ Where is Allan-a-Dale, to 
chronicle me in a ballad, or if it were but a lay?—• 
By St. Hermangild, the jingling crowder is ever out 
of the way where there is an apt theme for exalting 
valour! ” 

“ Curtal Priest,” said the captain, “ thou hast been at 
a wet mass this morning, as early as it is. In the name 
of St. Nicholas, whom hast thou got here ? ” 

“ A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble 
captain,” replied the Clerk of Copmanhurst, “to my 
bow and to my halberd, I should rather say; and yet 
I have redeemed him by my divinity from a worse 
captivity. Speak, Jew — have I not ransomed thee 
from Sathanas ? — have I not taught thee thy credo , 
thy pater , and thine Are Maria f — Did I not spend 
the whole night in drinking to thee, and in expound¬ 
ing of mysteries?” 

“ For the love of God! ” ejaculated the poor Jew, “ will 
no one take me out of the keeping of this mad— I mean 
this holy man?” 

“How’s this, Jew?” said the Friar, with a menacing 
aspect; “dost thou recant, Jew? — Bethink thee, if thou 
dost relapse into thine infidelity, though thou art not so 
tender as a suckling pig — I would I had one to break my 
fast upon — thou art not too tough to be roasted! Be 
conformable, Isaac, and repeat the words after me. Ave 
Maria! -” 

“Nay, we will have no profanation, mad Priest,” said 





























IVANHOE. 


-343 


Locksley; “ let us rather hear where you found this 
prisoner of thine.” * 

“ By St. Dunstan ! ” said the Briar, “ I found him where 
I sought for better ware! I did step into the cellarage 
to see what might be rescued there ; for though a cup ol 
burnt wine, with spice, be an evening’s draught for an 
emperor, it were waste, methought, to let so much good 
liquor be mulled at once; and I had caught up one run¬ 
let of sack, and was coming to call more aid among these 
lazy knaves, who are ever to seek when a good deed is to 
be done, when I was avised of a strong door. — Aha! 
thought I, here is the choicest juice of all in this secret 
crypt; and the knave butler, being disturbed in his voca¬ 
tion, hath left the key in the door — In therefore I went, 
and found just nought besides a commodity of rusted 
chains and this dog of a Jew, who presently rendered 
himself my prisoner, fescue or no rescue. I did but re¬ 
fresh myself after the fatigue of the action with the 
unbeliever, with one humming cup of sack, and was pro¬ 
ceeding to lead forth my captive, when, crash after crash, 
as with wild thunder-dint and levin-fire, down toppled the 
masonry of another tower (marry beshrew their hands 
that built it not the firmer!) and blocked up the pas¬ 
sage. The roar of one falling tower followed another 
— I gave up thought of life; and deeming it a dishonour 
to one of my profession to pass out of this world in com¬ 
pany with a Jew, I heaved up my halberd to beat his 
brains out; but I took pity on his grey hairs, and judged 
it better to lay down the partisan, and take up my spiritual 
weapon for his conversion. And truly, by the blessing of 
St. Dunstan, the seed has been sown in good soil; only 
that, with speaking to him of mysteries through the 
whole night, and being in a manner fasting (for the few 
draughts of sack which I sharpened my wits with, were 
not. worth marking) my head is well-nigh dizzied, X 
trow. But I was clean exhausted. Gilbert and Wib- 
bald know in what state they found me — quite and 
clean exhausted.” 

“ We can bear witness,” said Gilbert; “for when we 
had cleared away the ruin, and by St. Dunstan’s help 


344 


IVANHOE. 


lighted upon the dungeon stair, we found the runlet oi 
sack halfiempty, the Jew half-dead, and the Friar more 
than half — exhausted, as he calls it.” 

“ Ye be knaves ! ye lie ! ” retorted the offended Friar; 
“it was you and your gormandising companions that 
drank up the sack, and called it your morning draught. 
I am a pagan, an I kept it not for the captain’s own 
throat. But what recks it ? The Jew is converted, and 
understands all I have told him, very nearly, if not alto¬ 
gether, as well as myself.” 

“Jew,” said the captain, “is this true? Hast thou 
renounced thine unbelief ? ” 

“ May I so find mercy in your eyes,” said the Jew, 
“as I know not one word which the reverend prelate 
spake to me all this fearful night. Alas! I was so dis¬ 
traught with agony, and fear, and grief, that had our 
holy father Abraham come to preach to me, he had 
found but a deaf listener.” 

“ Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost,” said 
the Friar; “ I will remind thee but of one word of our 
conference: thou didst promise to give all thy substance 
to our holy Order.” 

“ So help me the Promise, fair sirs,” said Isaac, even 
more alarmed than before, “as no such sounds ever 
crossed my lips ! Alas ! I am an aged beggar’d man — I 
fear me a childless —- have ruth on me, and let me go ! ” 

“Hay,” said the Friar, “if thou dost retract vows 
made in favour of holy church, thou must do penance.” 

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have 
laid the staff of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had not 
the Black Knight stopped the blow, and thereby trans¬ 
ferred the holy clerk’s resentment to himself. 

“By St. Thomas of Kent,” said he, “an I buckle to 
my gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with 
thine own matters, maugre thine iron case there ! ” 

“Hay, be not wroth with me,” said the Knight; “thou 
knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.” 

“I know no such thing,” answered the Friar; “'and 
defy thee for a meddling coxcomb ! ” 

“ Hay, but,” said the Knight, who seemed to take a 


IYANHOE. 


345 


pleasure in provoking his quondam host, “ hast thou for¬ 
gotten how, that for my sake — for I say nothing of the 
temptation of the flagon and the pasty — thou didst 
break thy vow of fast and vigil ? ” 

“ Truly, friend,” said the Friar, clenching his huge fist, 
“ I will bestow a buffet on thee.” 

“ I accept of no such presents,” said the Knight; “ I 
am content to take thy cuff as a loan, but I will repay 
thee with usury as deep as ever thy prisoner there ex¬ 
acted in his traffic.” 

“ I will prove that presently,” said the Friar. 

“ Hola! ” cried the captain, “ what art thou after, mad 
Friar ? brawling beneath our trysting-tree ? ” 

“No brawling,” said the Knight; -it is but a friendly 
interchange of courtesy. Friar, strike an thou darest — 
I will stand thy blow, if thou will stand mine.” 

“Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy 
head,” said the churchman; “ but have at thee — Down 
thou goest, an thou wert Goliath of Gath in his brazen 
helmet.” 

The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and 
putting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a 
buffet that might have felled an ox. But his adversary 
stood firm as a rock. A loud shout was uttered by all 
the yeomen around; for the clerk’s cuff was proverbial 
amongst them, and there were few who, in jest or earnest, 
had not had occasion to know its vigour. “ Now, priest,” 
said the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, “ if I had van¬ 
tage on my head, I will have none on my hand; stand fast 
as a true man.” 

“ Genam meam dedi vapulatori — I have given my cheek 
to the smiter,” said the priest; “ an thou canst stir me 
from the spot, fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the 
Jew’s ransom.” 

So spoke the burly priest, assuming, on his part, high 
defiance. But who may resist his fate ? The buffet of 
the Knight was given with such strength and good-will 
that the Friar rolled head over heels upon the plain, to 
the great amazement of all the spectators. But he arose 
neither angry nor crestfallen. 


346 


IVANHOE. 


“ Brother,” said he to the Knight, “ thou shouldst have 
used thy strength with more discretion. I had mumbled 
but a lame mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, for the 
piper plays ill that wants the nether chops. Neverthe¬ 
less, there is my hand, in friendly witness that I will ex¬ 
change no more cuffs with thee, having been a loser by 
the barter. End now all unkindness. Let us put the 
Jew on ransom, since the leopard will not change his 
spots, and a Jew he will continue to be.” 

“ The priest,” said Clement, “ is not half so confident 
of the Jew’s conversion since he received that buffet on 
the ear.” 

“ Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions ? 
What, is there no respect ? — all masters and no men ?— 
[ tell thee, fellow, I was somewhat totty when I received 
the good Knight’s blow, or I had kept my ground under 
it. But an thou gibest more of it, thou shalt learn I can 
give as well as take.” 

“ Peace all! ” said the captain. “ And thou, Jew, think 
of thy ransom; thou needest not to be told that thy race 
are held to be accursed in all Christian communities, and 
trust me that we cannot endure thy presence among us. 
Think, therefore, of an offer, while I examine a prisoner 
of another cast.” 

“Were many of Eront-de-Boeuf’s men taken?” de¬ 
manded the Black Knight. 

“None of note enough to be put to ransom,” answered 
the captain; “a set of hilding fellows there were, whom we 
dismissed to find them a new master; enough had been 
done for revenge and profit; the bunch of them were not 
worth a cardecu. The prisoner I speak of is better booty —• 
a jolly monk riding to visit his leman, an I may judge by 
his horse-gear and wearing apparel — Here cometh the 
worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.” And between two yeo¬ 
men was brought before the silvan throne of the outlaw 
chief our old friend, Prior Aymer of JorvauiXo 


IVAN HOE. 


M7 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Flower of warriors, 

How is’t with Titus Lartius ? 

Marcius. As with a man busied about decrees, 
Condemning some to death and some to exile, 
Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other. 

Coriolanus. 

The captive Abbot’s features and manners exhibited a 
whimsical mixture of offended pride, and deranged foppery, 
and bodily terror. 

“ Why, how now, my masters ? 99 said he, with a voice 
in which all three emotions were blended. “ What order 
is this among ye ? Be ye Turks or Christians, that han¬ 
dle a churchman ? — Know ye what it is, manus imponere 
in servos Domini f Ye have plundered my mails, torn my 
cope of curious cut lace, which might have served a cardi¬ 
nal. Another in my place would have been at his excom• 
municabo vos ; but I am placable, and if ye order forth 
my palfreys, release my brethren, and restore my mails, 
tell down with all speed an hundred crowns to be ex¬ 
pended in masses at the high altar of Jorvaulx Abbey, 
and make your vow to eat no venison until next Pen¬ 
tecost, it may be you shall hear little more of this mad 
frolic.” 

“Holy father,” said the chief outlaw, “it grieves me to 
think that you have met with such usage from any of my 
followers as calls for your fatherly reprehension.” 

“Usage!” echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild 
tone of the silvan leader; “ it were usage fit for no hound 
of good race—much less for a Christian — far less for a 
priest — and least of all for the prior of the holy com¬ 
munity of Jorvaulx. Here is a profane and drunken 
minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale— nebulo quidam — who has 
menaced me with corporal punishment—nay, with death 
itself, an I pay not down four hundred crowns of ran¬ 
som, to the boot of all the treasure he hath already 
robbed me of—gold chains and gymmal rings to an un¬ 
known value; besides what is broken and spoiled among 


348 


IVAN HOE. 


their rude hands, such as my pouncet-box and silver 
erisping-tongs.” 

“It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus 
treated a man of your reverend bearing,” replied the 
captain. 

“ It is true as the gospel of St. Nicodemus,” said the 
Prior; “ he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, 
that he would hang me up on the highest tree in the 
greenwood.” 

“Did he so in very deed ? Nay, then, reverend father, 
I think you had better comply with his demands —for 
Allan-a-Dale is the very man to abide by his word when 
he has so pledged it.” 

“ You do but jest with me,” said the astounded Prior, 
with a forced laugh; “and I love a good jest with 
all my heart. But, ha! ha! ha! when the mirth has 
lasted the livelong night, it is time to be grave in the 
morning.” 

“ And I am as grave as a father confessor,” replied the 
outlaw; “you must pay a round ransom, Sir Prior, or 
your convent is likely to be called to a new election; for 
your place will know you no more.” 

“Are ye Christians,” said the Prior, “and. hold this 
language to a churchman ? ” 

“ Christians! ay, marry are we, and have divinity 
among us to boot,” answered the outlaw. “Let our 
buxom chaplain stand forth, and expound to this rev¬ 
erend father the texts which concern this matter.” 

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar’s 
frock over his green cassock, and now summoning to¬ 
gether whatever scraps of learning he had acquired by 
rote in former days — “Holy father,” said he, “ Deus 
faciat salvam benignitatem vestram — you are welcome to 
the greenwood.” 

“ What profane mummery is this ? ” said the Prior. 
“Friend, if thou be’st indeed of the church, it were a 
better deed to show me how I may escape from these 
men’s hands than to stand ducking and grinning here 
like a morris-dancer.” 

“ Truly, reverend father,” said the Friar, “ I know but 


IVANHOB. 


34 9 

one mode in which thou mayest escape. This is St. Am 
drew’s day with us; we are taking our tithes.” 

“But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother? ” 
said the Prior. 

“ Of church and lay,” said the Priar; “ and therefore, Sir 
Prior, facite vobis amicos de mammone iniquitatis — make 
yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, for 
no other friendship is like to serve your turn.” 

“I love a jolly woodsman at heart,” said the Prior, 
softening his tone; “come, ye must not deal too hard 
with me — I can well of woodcraft, and can wind a horn 
clear and lustily, and hollo till every oak rings again — 
Come, ye must not deal too hard with me.” 

“Give him a horn,” said the outlaw; “we will prove 
the skill he boasts of.” 

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The 
captain shook his head. 

“ Sir Prior,” he said, “ thou blowest a merry note, but 
it may not ransom thee; we cannot afford, as the legend 
on a good knight’s shield hath it, to set thee free for a 
blast. Moreover, I have found thee — thou art one of 
those who, with new French graces and tra-li-ras, disturb 
the ancient English bugle notes.—Prior, that last flour¬ 
ish on the recheat hath added fifty crowns to thy ransom, 
for corrupting the true old manly blasts of venerie.” 

“Well, friend,” said the Abbot, peevishly, “thou art ill 
to please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more con¬ 
formable in this matter of my ransom. At a word — 
since I must needs, for once, hold a candle to the devil — 
what ransom am I to pay for walking on Watling Street 
without having fifty men at my back ? ” 

“Were it not well,” said the lieutenant of the gang 
Apart to the captain, “ that the Prior should name the 
Jew’s ransom and the Jew name the Prior’s ? ” 

“ Thou art a mad knave,” said the captain, “ but thy 
plan transcends ! — Here, Jew, step forth—Look at that 
holy Father Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx, 
and tell us at what ransom we should hold him ? —Thou 
knowest the income of his convent, I warrant thee.” 

“ Oh, assuredly,” said Isaac. “I have trafficked with 


350 


IVANHOE. 


the good fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits 
of the earth, and also much wool. Oh, it is a rich abbey- 
stede, and they do live upon the fat, and drink the sweet 
wines upon the lees, these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, 
if an outcast like me had such a home to go to, and such 
incomings by the year and by the month, I would pay 
much gold and silver to redeem my captivity.” 

“ Hound of a Jew!” exclaimed the Prior, “no one 
knows better than thy own cursed self that our holy 
house of God is indebted for the finishing of our chan¬ 
cel-” 

“ And for the storing of your cellars in the last season 
with the due allowance of Gascon wine,” interrupted the 
Jew; “but that — that is small matters.” 

“ Hear the infidel dog ! ” said the churchman ; “ he 
jangles as if our holy community did come under debts 
for the wines we have a license to drink propter necessi- 
tatem et ad frigus depellendum. The circumcised villain 
blasphemeth the holy church, and Christian men listen 
and rebuke him not! ” 

“All this helps nothing,” said the leader. “Isaac, 
pronounce what he may pay, without flaying both hide 
and hair.” 

“ An six hundred crowns,” said Isaac, “ the good Prior 
might well pay to your honoured valours, and never sit less 
soft in his stall.” 

“ Six hundred crowns,” said the leader, gravely; “ I am 
contented — thou hast well spoken, Isaac — six hundred 
crowns. It is a sentence, Sir Prior.” 

“ A sentence! — a sentence ! ” exclaimed the band ; 
“ Solomon had not done it better.” 

“ Thou hearest thy doom, Prior,” said the leader. 

“ Ye are mad, my masters,” said the Prior; “ where 
am I to find such a sum ? If I sell the very pyx and 
candlesticks on the altar at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce raise 
the half; and it will be necessary for that purpose that 
l go to Jorvaulx myself; ye may retain as borrows my 
two priests.” 

“ That will be but blind trust,” said the outlaw ; “ we 
will retain thee, Prior, and send them to fetch thy ran* 



IVANHOE. 


351 


som. Thou shalt not want a cup of wine and a collop 
of venison the while; and if thou lovest woodcraft, thou 
shalt see such as your north country never witnessed.” 

“ Or, if so please you,” said Isaac, willing to curry 
favour with the outlaws, “ I can send to York for the six 
hundred crowns, out of certain monies in my hands, if so 
be that the most reverend Prior present will grant me a 
quittance.” 

“ He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac,” 
said the captain; “ and thou shalt lay down the redemp¬ 
tion money for Prior Aymer as well as for thyself.” 

“For myself! ah, courageous sirs,” said the Jew, “I 
am a broken and impoverished man ; a beggar’s staff 
must be my portion through life, supposing I were to pay 
you fifty crowns.” 

“ The Prior shall judge of that matter,” replied the 
captain.— “ How say you, Father Aymer ? Can the Jew 
afford a good ransom ? ” 

“ Can he afford a ransom ? ” answered the Prior. “ Is 
he not Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the captivity 
of the ten tribes of Israel who were led into Assyrian 
bondage ? — I have seen but little of him myself, but our 
cellarer and treasurer have dealt largely with him, and 
report says that his house at York is so full of gold and 
silver as is a shame in any Christian land. Marvel it is 
to all living Christian hearts that such gnawing adders 
should be suffered to eat into the bowels of the state, 
and even of the holy church herself, with foul usuries 
and extortions.” 

“Hold, father,” said the Jew, “mitigate and assuage 
your choler. I pray of your reverence to remember that 
I force my monies upon no one. But when churchmen 
and laymen, prince and prior, knight and priest, come 
knocking to Isaac’s door, they borrow not his shekels 
with these uncivil terms. It is then friend Isaac, will 
you pleasure us in this matter, and our day shall be truly 
kept, so God sa’ me?’ — and ‘Kind Isaac, if ever you 
served man, show yourself a friend in this need! ’ And 
when the day comes, and I ask my own, then what hear 
I but ‘Damned Jew,’ and ‘the curse of Egypt on your 


352 


1VANH0E. 


tribe,’ and all that may stir up the rude and uncivil pop¬ 
ulace against poor strangers ! ” 

“ Prior,” said the captain, “ Jew though he be, he hath 
in this spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ran¬ 
som, as he named thine, without farther rude terms.” 

“None but latro famosus —the interpretation whereof,” 
said the Prior, “ will I give at some other time and tide 
— would place a Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew 
upon the same bench. But since you require me to put 
a price upon this caitiff, I tell you openly that ye will 
wrong yourselves if you take from him a penny under a 
thousand crowns.” 

“ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ” exclaimed the chief 
outlaw. 

“ A sentence! — a sentence ! ” shouted his assessors; 
“ the Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt with 
us more generously than the Jew.” 

“The God of my fathers help me!” said the Jew; 
“ will ye bear to the ground an impoverished creature ? 
I am this day childless, and will ye deprive me of the 
means of livelihood ? ” 

“Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou 
art childless,” said Aymer. 

“ Alas! my lord,” said Isaac, “ your law permits you 
not to know how the child of our bosom is entwined with 
the strings of our heart. 0 Rebecca! daughter of my 
beloved Rachel! were each leaf on that tree a zecchin, 
and each zecchin mine own, all that mass of wealth would 
I give to know whether thou art alive, and escaped the 
hands of the Nazarene! ” 

“ Was not thy daughter dark-haired ? ” said one of the 
outlaws; “ and wore she not a veil of twisted sendal 
broidered with silver ? ” 

“ She did ! — she did! ” said the old man, trembling 
with eagerness, as formerly with fear. “ The blessing of 
Jacob be upon thee ! Canst thou tell me aught of her 
safety ? ” 

“ It was she, then,” said the yeoman, “ who was carried 
off by the proud Templar, when he broke through our 
ranks on yester-even. I had drawn my bow to send a 


IVANHOE. 


353 


shaft after him, but spared him even for the sake of the 
damsel, who I feared might take harm from the arrow.” 

“ Oh! ” answered the Jew, “ I would to God thou hadst 
shot, though the arrow had pierced her bosom i — Better 
the tomb of her fathers than the dishonourable couch 
of the licentious and savage Templar. Ichabod! Icliabod! 
the glory hath departed from my house ! ” 

“ Friends,” said the chief, looking round, “the old man 
is but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me. —Deal up¬ 
rightly with us, Isaac — will paying this ransom of a 
thousand crowns leave thee altogether penniless ? ” 

Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love 
of which, by dint of inveterate habit, contended even 
with his parental affection, grew pale, stammered, and 
could not deny there might be some small surplus. 

“Well, goto, what though there be,” said the outlaw, 
“ we will not reckon with thee too closely Without 
treasure thou mayst as well hope to redeem thy child 
from the clutches of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert as to 
shoot a stag-royal with a headless shaft. — We will take 
thee at the same ransom with Prior Aymer, or rather at 
one hundred crowns lower, which hundred crowns shall 
be mine own peculiar loss, and not light upon this wor¬ 
shipful community; and so we shall avoid the heinous 
offence of rating a Jew merchant as high as a Christian 
prelate, and thou wilt have six hundred crowns remaining 
to treat for thy daughter’s ransom. Templars love the 
glitter of silver shekels as well as the sparkle of black 
eyes. — Hasten to make thy crowns chink in the ear of 
I)e Bois-Guilbert, ere worse comes of it. Thou wilt find 
him, as our scouts have brought notice, at the next Pre- 
eeptory house of his Order. — Said I well, my merry 
mates ? ” 

The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in 
their leader’s opinion; and Isaac, relieved of one-half of 
his apprehensions, by learning that his daughter lived, 
and might possibly be ransomed, threw himself at the 
feet of the generous outlaw, and, rubbing his beard 
against his buskins, sought to kiss the hem of his green 
eassock. The captain drew himself back, and extricated 
2 a 


354 


IVANHOE. 


himself from the Jew’s grasp, not without some marks 
of contempt. 

“ Nay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee ! I am Eng¬ 
lish born, and love no such Eastern prostrations. Kneel 
to God, and not to a poor sinner like me.” 

“ Ay, Jew,” said Prior Aymer, “ kneel to God, as rep¬ 
resented in the servant of His altar, and who knows, 
with thy sincere repentance and due gifts to the shrine 
of St. Robert, what grace thou mayst acquire for thyself 
and thy daughter Rebecca? I grieve for the maiden, 
for she is of fair and comely countenance — I beheld 
her in the lists of Ashby. Also Brian de Bois-Guilbert is 
one with whom I may do much — bethink thee how thou 
mayst deserve my good word with him.” 

“Alas! alas!” said the Jew, “on every hand the 
spoilers arise against me — I am given as a prey unto 
the Assyrian, and a prey unto him of Egypt.” 

“And what else should be the lot of thy accursed 
race ?” answered the Prior; “for what saith Holy Writ, 
verbum Domini projecerunt, et sapientia est nulla in eis — 
they have cast forth the Word of the Lord, and there is 
no wisdom in them — propterea dabo mulieres eorum exteris 
— I will give their women to strangers, that is to the 
Templar, as in the present matter — et thesauros eorum 
hceredibus alienis — and their treasures to others, as in 
the present case to these honest gentlemen.” 

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, 
and to relapse into his state of desolation and despair. 
But the leader of the yeomen led him aside. 

“ Advise thee well, Isaac,” said Locksley, “ what thou 
wilt do in this matter; my counsel to thee is to make a 
friend of this churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is 
covetous; at least he needs money to supply his profu¬ 
sion. Thou canst easily gratify his greed; for think not 
that I am blinded by thy pretexts of poverty. I am in¬ 
timately acquainted, Isaac, with the very iron chest in 
which thou dost keep thy money-bags. — What! know 
I not the great stone beneath the apple tree, that leads 
into the vaulted chamber under thy garden at York ? ” 
The Jew grew as pale as death. “ But fear nothing from 


IVANHOE. 


355 


me,” continued the yeoman,. “ for we are of old acquainted. 
Dost thou not remember the sick yeoman whom thy fair 
daughter Kebecca redeemed from the gyves at York, and 
kept him in thy house till his health was restored, when 
thou didst dismiss him recovered, and with a piece of 
money ? Usurer as thou art, thou didst never place coin 
at better interest than that poor silver mark, for it has 
this day saved thee five hundred crowns.” 

“ And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the- 
Bow,” said Isaac; “ I thought ever I knew the accent of 
thy voice.” 

“ I am Bend-the-Bow,” said the captain, “ and Locks- 
ley, and have a good name besides all these.” 

“ But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, concern¬ 
ing that same vaulted apartment. So help me heaven, 
as there is nought in it but some merchandises which I 
will gladly part with to you — one hundred yards of Lin¬ 
coln green to make doublets to thy men, and a hundred 
staves of Spanish yew to make bows, and one hundred 
silken bowstrings, tough, round, and sound — these will 
I send thee for thy good-will, honest Diccon, an thou 
wilt keep silence about the vault, my good Diccon.” 

“ Silent as a dormouse,” said the outlaw; “ and never 
trust me but I am grieved for thy daughter. But I may 
not help it. The Templar’s lances are too strong for my 
archery in the open field — they would scatter us like 
dust. Had I but known it was Bebecca when she was 
borne off, something might have been done; but now 
thou must needs proceed by policy. Come, shall I treat 
for thee with the Prior ? ” 

“In God’s name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid me to re¬ 
cover the child of my bosom ! ” 

“Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed ava¬ 
rice,” said the outlaw, “ and I will deal with him in thy 
behalf.” 

He then turned from the Jew, who followed him, 
however, as closely as his shadow. 

“Prior Aymer,” said the captain, “come apart with 
me under this tree. Men say thou dost love wine and a 
lady’s smile better than beseems thy Order, Sir Priest; 


356 


IVANHOE. 


but with that I have nought to do. I have heard, too, 
thou dost love a brace of good dogs and a fleet horse, and 
it may well be that, loving things which are costly to 
come by, thou hatest not a purse of gold. But I have 
never heard that thou didst love oppression or cruelty. — 
Now, here is Isaac willing to give thee the means of 
pleasure and pastime in a bag containing one hundred 
marks of silver, if thy intercession with thine ally the 
Templar shall avail to procure the freedom of his 
daughter.” 

“ In safety and honour, as when taken from me,” said 
the Jew, “ otherwise it is no bargain.” 

“ Peace, Isaac,” said the outlaw, “or I give up thine 
interest. — What say you to this my purpose, Prior 
Aymer ? ” 

“ The matter,” quoth the Prior, “ is of a mixed con¬ 
dition ; for, if I do a good deed on the one hand, yet, 
on the other, it goeth to the vantage of a Jew, and in so 
much is against my conscience. Yet, if the Israelite will 
advantage the church by giving me somewhat over to the 
building of our dortour, I will take it on my conscience 
to aid him in the matter of his daughter.” 

“ For a score of marks to the dortour,” said the outlaw 
— “ Be still, I say, Isaac! — or for a brace of silver 
candlesticks to the altar, we will not stand with you.” 

“Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow,” said Isaac, 
endeavouring to interpose. 

“Good Jew — good beast—good earthworm!” said the 
yeoman, losing patience; “ an thou dost go on to put 
thy filthy lucre in the balance with thy daughter’s life 
and honour, by Heaven, I will strip thee of every mara- 
vedi thou hast in the world before three days are out! ” 

Isaac shrunk together, and was silent. 

“ And what pledge am I to have for all this ? ” said 
the Prior. 

“When Isaac returns successful through your media¬ 
tion,” said the outlaw, “ I swear by St. Hubert, I will see 
that he pays thee the money in good silver, or I will 
reckon with him for it in such sort, he had better have 
paid twenty such sums.” 


IVANHOE. 


357 


“Well then, Jew,” said Aymer, “since I must needs 
meddle in this matter, let me have the use of thy writing- 
tablets — though, hold — rather than use thy pen, I would 
fast for twenty-four hours, and where shall I find one ? ” 

“If your holy scruples can dispense with using the 
Jew’s tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy,” said the 
yeoman; and, bending his bow, he aimed his shaft at a 
wild goose which was soaring over their heads, the ad¬ 
vanced guard of a phalanx of his tribe, which were 
winging their way to the distant and solitary fens of 
Holderness. The bird came fluttering down, transfixed 
with the arrow. 

“There, Prior,” said the captain, “are quills enow to 
supply all the monks of Jorvaulx for the next hundred 
years, an they take not to writing chronicles.” 

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indicted an 
epistle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully 
sealed up the tablets, delivered them to the Jew, saying: 
“This will be thy safe-conduct to the Preceptory of 
Templestowe, and, as I think, is most likely to accom¬ 
plish the delivery of thy daughter, if it be well backed 
with proffers of advantage and commodity at thine own 
hand; for, trust me well, the good knight Bois-Guilbert 
is of their confraternity that do nought for nought.” 

“Well, Prior,” said the outlaw, “I will detain thee no 
longer here than to give the Jew a quittance for the six 
hundred crowns at which thy ransom is fixed — I accept 
of him for my paymaster; and if I hear that ye boggle 
at allowing him in his accompts the sum so paid by him, 
St. Mary refuse me, an I burn not the abbey over thine 
head, though I hang ten years the sooner! ” 

With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had 
penned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an 
acquittance, discharging Isaac of York of six hundred 
crowns, advanced to him in his need for acquittal of his 
ransom, and faithfully promising to hold true compt with 
him for that sum. 

“And now,” said Prior Aymer, “I will pray you of 
restitution of my mules and palfreys, and the freedom of 
the reverend brethren attending upon me, and also of the 


358 


IVAN HOE. 


gymmal rings, jewels, and fair vestures of which I have 
been despoiled, having now satisfied you for my ransom 
as a true prisoner.” 

“ Touching your brethren, Sir Prior,” said Locksley, 
“they shall have present freedom, it were unjust to 
detain them; touching your horses and mules, they shall 
also be restored, with such spending-money as may enable 
you to reach York, for it were cruel to deprive you of the 
means of journeying.—But as concerning rings, jewels, 
chains, and what else, you must understand that we are 
men of tender consciences, and will not yield to a ven¬ 
erable man like yourself, who should be dead to the 
vanities of this life, the strong temptation to break the 
rule of his foundation, by wearing rings, chains, or other 
vain gauds.” 

“ Think what you do, my masters,” said the Prior, “ ere 
you put your hand on the Church’s patrimony. These 
things are inter res sacras, and I wot not what judgment 
might ensue were they to be handled by laical hands.” 

“I will take care of that, reverend Prior,” said the 
hermit of Copmanhurst; “for I will wear them myself.” 

“ Friend, or brother,” said the Prior, in answer to this 
solution of his doubts, “if thou hast really taken re¬ 
ligious orders, I pray thee to look how thou wilt answer 
to thine official for the share thou hast taken in this 
day’s work.” 

“ Friend Prior,” returned the hermit, “ you are to know 
that I belong to a little diocese where I am my own 
diocesan, and care as little for the Bishop of York as I 
do for the Abbot of Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all the 
convent.” 

“ Thou art utterly irregular,” said the Prior — “ one of 
those disorderly men who, taking on them the sacred 
character without due cause, profane the holy rites, and 
endanger the souls of those who take counsel at their 
hands; lapides pro pane eondonantes iis, giving them 
stones instead of bread, as the Vulgate hath it.” 

“Nay,” said the Friar, “an my brain-pan could have 
been broken by Latin, it had not held so long together. 
— I say, that easing a world of such misproud priests as 


IVANHOE. 


359 


fchou art, of their jewels and their gimcracks is a lawful 
spoiling of the Egyptians.” 

“Thou be’st a hedge-priest,” said the Prior, in great 
wrath, “ excommunicabo vos.” 

“ Thou be’st thyself more like a thief and a heretic,” 
said the Friar, equally indignant; “I will pouch up no 
such affront before my parishioners, as thou thinkest it 
not shame to put upon me, although I be a reverend 
brother to thee. Ossa ejus perfringam, I will break your 
bones, as the Vulgate hath it.” 

“ Hpla! ” cried the captain, “ come the reverend brethren 
to such terms ? — Keep thine assurance of peace, Friar. 
— Prior, an thou hast .not made thy peace perfect with 
God, provoke the Friar no further. — Hermit, let the rev¬ 
erend father depart in peace, as a ransomed man.” 

The yeomen separated the incensed priests, who con¬ 
tinued to raise their voices, vituperating each other in 
bad Latin, which the Prior delivered the more fluently, 
and the hermit with the greater vehemence. The Prior 
at length recollected himself sufficiently to be aware that 
he was compromising his dignity by squabbling with such 
a hedge-priest as the outlaw’s chaplain, and being joined 
by his attendants, rode off with considerably less pomp, 
and in a much more apostolical condition, so far as 
worldly matters were concerned, than he had exhibited 
before this encounter. 

It remained that the Jew should produce some security 
for the ransom which he was to pay on the Prior’s ac¬ 
count, as well as upon his own. He gave, accordingly, 
an order sealed with his signet, to a brother of his tribe 
at York, requiring him to pay to the bearer the sum of 
a thousand crowns, and to deliver certain merchandises 
specified in the note. 

“ My brother Sheva,” he said, groaning deeply, “ hath 
the key of my warehouses.” 

“ And of the vaulted chamber,” whispered Locksley. 

“Ko, no — may Heaven forefend ! ” said Isaac; “evil 
is the hour that let any one whomsoever into that 
secret! ” 

“ It is safe with me,” said the outlaw, “ so be that this 


360 


IVANHOE. 


thy scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set 
down. — But what now, Isaac ? art dead ? art stupefied ? 
hath the payment of a thousand crowns put thy daugh¬ 
ter’s peril out of thy mind ? ” 

The Jew started to his feet: “No, Diccon, no — I will 
presently set forth. — Farewell, thou whom I may not call 
good, and dare not, and will not, call evil.” 

Yet, ere Isaac departed, the outlaw chief bestowed on 
him this parting advice: “ Be liberal of thine offers, Isaac, 
and spare not thy purse for thy daughter’s safety. Credit 
me, that the gold thou shalt spare in her cause will here¬ 
after give thee as much agony as if it were poured molten 
down thy throat.” 

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth on 
his journey, accompanied by two tall foresters, who were 
to be his guides, and at the same time his guards, through 
the wood. 

The Black Knight, who had seen with no small inter¬ 
est these various proceedings, now took his leave of the 
outlaw in turn; nor could he avoid expressing his surprise 
at having witnessed so much of civil policy amongst per¬ 
sons cast out from all the ordinary protection and influ¬ 
ence of the laws. 

“ Good fruit, Sir Knight,” said the yeoman, “ will some¬ 
times grow ou a sorry tree; and evil times are not always 
productive of evil alone and unmixed. Amongst those 
who are drawn into this lawless state, there are, doubt¬ 
less, numbers who wish to exercise its license with some 
moderation, and some who regret, it may be, that they 
are obliged to follow such a trade at all.” 

“And to one of those,” said the Knight, “I am now, I 
presume, speaking?” 

“ Sir Knight,” said the outlaw, “ we have each our se¬ 
cret. You are welcome to form your judgment of me, 
and I may use my conjectures touching you, though nei¬ 
ther of our shafts may hit the mark they are shot at. 
But as I do not pray to be admitted into your mystery, 
be not offended that I preserve my own.” 

“I crave pardon, brave outlaw,” said the Knight, “your 
reproof is just. But it may be we shall meet hereafter 


IVANHOE. 


361 


with less of concealment on either side. — Meanwhile we 
part friends, do we not ? ” 

“ There is my hand upon it,” said Locksley; “ and I 
will call it the hand of a true Englishman, though an 
outlaw for the present.” 

“And there is mine in return,” said the Knight, “and 
I hold it honoured by being clasped with yours. For he 
that does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, 
deserves praise not only for the good which he performs, 
but for the evil which he forbears. Fare thee well, gal¬ 
lant outlaw! ” 

Thus parted that fair fellowship; and he of the Fetter¬ 
lock, mounting upon his strong war-horse, rode off through 
the forest. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

King John. I’ll tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way ; 

And wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread, 

He lies before me. Dost thou understand me ? 

King John. 

There was brave feasting in the Castle of York, to 
which Prince John had invited those nobles, prelates, 
and leaders by whose assistance he hoped to carry through 
his ambitious projects upon his brother’s throne. Walde- 
mar Fitzurse, his able and politic agent, was at secret work 
among them, tempering all to that pitch of courage which 
was necessary in making an open declaration of their pur¬ 
pose. But their enterprise was delayed by the absence 
of more than one main limb of the confederacy. The 
stubborn and daring, though brutal, courage of Front-de- 
Boeuf; the buoyant spirits and bold bearing of De Bracy; 
the sagacity, martial experience, and renowned valour of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, were important to the success of 
their conspiracy; and, while cursing in secret their un¬ 
necessary and unmeaning absence, neither John nor his 
adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac the Jew 
also seemed to have vanished, and with him the hope of 
certain sums of money, making up the subsidy for which 


362 


IVANHOE. 


Prince John had contracted with that Israelite and his 
brethren. This deficiency was likely to prove perilous in 
an emergency so critical. 

It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, 
that a confused report began to spread abroad in the city 
of York that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with their 
confederate Eront-de-Boeuf, had been taken or slain. 
Waldemar brought the rumour to Prince John, announc¬ 
ing, that he feared its truth the more that they had set 
out with a small attendance, for the purpose of commit¬ 
ting an assault on the Saxon Cedric and his attendants. 
At another time the Prince would have treated this deed 
of violence as a good jest; but now that it interfered 
with and impeded his own plans, he exclaimed against 
the perpetrators, and spoke of the broken laws, and the 
infringement of public order and of private property, in 
a tone which might have become King Alfred. 

“ The unprincipled marauders! ” he said; “ were I ever 
to become monarch of England, I would hang such trans¬ 
gressors over the drawbridges of their own castles.” 

“But to become monarch of England,” said his Ahitho- 
phel, coolly, “it is necessary not only that your Grace 
should endure the transgressions of these unprincipled 
marauders, but that you should afford them your protec¬ 
tion, notwithstanding your laudable zeal for the laws 
they are in the habit of infringing. We shall be finely 
helped, if the churl Saxons should have realised your 
Grace’s vision of converting feudal drawbridges into 
gibbets; and yonder bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one to 
whom such an imagination might occur. Your Grace is 
well aware, it will be dangerous to stir without Eront-de- 
Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar; and yet we have 
gone too far to recede with safety.” 

Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and 
then began to stride up and down the apartment. 

“ The villains,” he said, “ the base, treacherous villains, 
to desert me at this pinch ! ” 

“Kay, say rather the feather-pated, giddy madmen,” 
said Waldemar, “ who must be toying with follies when 
such business was in hand.” 


IVANHOE. 


363 


“ What is to be done ? ” said the Prince, stopping short 
before Waldemar. 

“I know nothing which can be done,” answered his 
counsellor, “ save that which I have already taken order 
for.—I came not to bewail this evil chance with your 
Grace until I had done my best to remedy it.” 

“ Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,” said the 
Prince; “ and when I have such a chancellor to advise 
withal, the reign of John will be renowned in our annals. 

— What hast thou commanded ? ” 

“ I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy’s lieu¬ 
tenant, to cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to dis¬ 
play his banner, and to set presently forth towards the 
castle of Front-de-Boeuf, to do what yet may be done for 
the succour of our friends.” 

Prince John’s face flushed with the pride of a spoilt 
child, who has undergone what it conceives to be an 
insult. 

“ By the face of God! ” he said, “ Waldemar Pitzurse, 
much hast thou taken upon thee! and over-malapert 
thou wert to cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be 
raised, in a town where ourselves were in presence, with¬ 
out our express command.” 

“ I crave your Grace’s pardon,” said Fitzurse, inter¬ 
nally cursing the idle vanity of his patron; “ but when 
time pressed, and even the loss of minutes might be 
fatal, I judged it best to take this much burden upon 
me, in a matter of such importance to your Grace’s 
interest.” 

“ Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,” said the Prince, gravely; 
“ thy purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rashness. — But 
whom have we here ? — De Bracy himself, by the rood! 

— and in strange guise doth he come before us.” 

It was indeed De Bracy, “ bloody with spurring, fiery 
red with speed.” His armour bore all the marks of the 
late obstinate fray, being broken, defaced, and stained 
with blood in many places, and covered with clay and 
dust from the crest to the spur. Undoing his helmet, he 
placed it on the table, and stood a moment as if to col 
lect himself before he told his news. 


364 


IVANHOE. 


“De Bracy,” said Prince John, “what means this? — 
Speak, I charge thee ! — Are the Saxons in rebellion ?” 

“ Speak, De Braey,” said Fitzurse, almost in the same 
moment with his master, “ thou wert wont to be a man. 
— Where is the Templar ? — where Front-de-Boeuf ? ” 

“ The Templar is fled,” said De Bracy; “ Front-de- 
Boeuf yon will never see more. He has found a red 
grave among the blazing rafters of his own castle, and I 
alone am escaped to tell you.” 

“Cold news,” said Waldemar, “to us, though you 
speak of fire and conflagration.” 

“ The worst news is not yet said,” answered De Bracy; 
and, coming up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and 
emphatic tone: “ Bichard is in England — I have seen 
and spoken with him.” 

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the 
back of an oaken bench to support himself, much like to 
a man who receives an arrow in his bosom. 

“Thou ravest, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, “it cannot 
be.” 

“ It is as true as truth itself,” said De Bracy; “ I was 
his prisoner, and spoke with him.” 

“ With Bichard Plantagenet, sayest thou ? ” continued 
Fitzurse. 

“ With Bichard Plantagenet,” replied De Bracy — 
“ with Bichard Coeur-de-Lion — with Bichard of Eng¬ 
land.” 

“And thou wert his prisoner?” said Waldemar; “he 
is then at the head of a power ? ” 

“No; only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, 
and to these his person is unknown. I heard him say he 
was about to depart from them. He joined them only to 
assist at the storming of Torquilstone.” 

“ Ay,” said Fitzurse, “ such is indeed the fashion of 
Bichard —a true knight-errant he, and will wander in 
wild adventure, trusting the prowess of his single arm, 
like any Sir Guy or Sir Be vis, while the weighty affairs 
of his kingdom slumber, and his own safety is endan¬ 
gered. — What dost thou propose to do, De Bracy ? ” 

“ I ? I offered Bichard the service of my Free Lances, 


IVANHOE. 


365 


and he refused them. I will lead them to Hull, seize on 
shipping, and embark for Flanders; thanks to the bus- 
tling times, a man of action will always find employment. 
And thou, Waldemar, wilt thou take lance and shield, 
and lay down thy policies, and wend along with me, and 
share the fate which God sends us ? ” 

“ I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,” an¬ 
swered Waldemar. 

“ Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as 
fits her rank, with the help of lance and stirrup,” said 
De Bracy. 

“Not so,” answered Fitzurse; “I will take sanctuary 
in this church of St. Peter — the Archbishop is my sworn 
brother.” 

During this discourse, Prince John had gradually 
awakened from the stupor into which he had been 
thrown by the unexpected intelligence, and had been at¬ 
tentive to the conversation which passed betwixt his fol¬ 
lowers. “They fall off from me,” he said to himself; 
“they hold no more by me than a withered leaf by the 
bough when a breeze blows on it! — Hell and fiends! can 
I shape no means for myself when I am deserted by 
these cravens ? ” — He paused, and there was an expres¬ 
sion of diabolical passion in the constrained laugh with 
which he at length broke in on their conversation. 

“Ha, ha, ha! my good lords, by the light of Our 
Lady’s brow ,-1 held ye sage men, bold men, ready-witted 
men, loving things which are costly to come by; 37-et ye 
throw down wealth, honour, pleasure, all that our noble 
game promised you, at the moment it might be won by 
one bold cast! ” 

“I understand you not,” said De Bracy. “As soon as 
Bichard’s return is blown abroad, he will be at the head 
of an army, and all is then over with us. I would coun¬ 
sel you, my lord, either to fly to France or take the pro¬ 
tection of the Queen Mother.” 

“I seek no safety for myself,” said Prince John, 
haughtily; “that I could secure by a word spoken to my 
brother. But although you, De Bracy, and you, Walde¬ 
mar Fitzurse, are so ready to abandon me, I should not 


366 


IVAN HOE. 


greatly delight to see your heads blackening on Clifford’s 
Gate yonder. Thinkest thou, Waldemar, that the wily 
Archbishop will not suffer thee to be taken from the 
very horns of the altar, would it make his peace with 
King Richard ? And forgettest thou, De Bracy, that 
Robert Estoteville lies betwixt thee and Hull with all his 
forces, and that the Earl of Essex is gathering his fol¬ 
lowers ? If we had reason to fear these levies even 
before Richard’s return, trowest thou there is any doubt 
now which party their leaders will take ? Trust me, 
Estoteville alone has strength enough to drive all thy 
Free Lances into the Humber.” Waldemar Fitzurse and 
De Bracy looked in each other’s faces with blank dis¬ 
may. “ There is but one road to safety,” continued the 
Prince, and his brow grew black as midnight: “this 
object of our terror journeys alone — he must be met 
withal.” 

“Hot by me,” said De Bracy, hastily; “I was his pris¬ 
oner, and he took me to mercy. I will not harm a feather 
in his crest.” 

“ Who spoke of harming him ? ” said Prince John, 
with a hardened laugh; “ the knave will say next that I 
meant he should slay him ! No — a prison were better; 
and whether in Britain or Austria, what matters it ? 
Things will be but as the} r were when we commenced our 
enterprise — it was founded on the hope that Richard 
would remain a captive in Germany. Our uncle Robert 
lived and died in the castle of Cardiff.” 

“Ay, but,” said Waldemar, “your sire Henry sate 
more firm in his seat than your Grace can. I say the 
best prison is that which is made by the sexton — no 
dungeon like a church-vault! ’ I have said my say.” 

“ Prison or tomb,” said De Bracy, “ I wash my hands 
of the whole matter.” 

“Villain!” said Prince John, “thou wouldst not be¬ 
wray our counsel ? ” 

“ Counsel was never bewrayed by me,” said De Bracy, 
haughtily, “nor must the name of villain be coupled 
with mine! ” 

“Psace, Sir Knight! ” said Waldemar; “ and you, good 


IVANHOE . 


367 


my lord, forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy; I 
trust I shall soon remove them.” 

“That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse,” replied the 
knight. 

“Why, good Sir Maurice / 7 rejoined the wily politician, 
“start not aside like a scared steed, without, at least, 
considering the object of your terror. This Bichard — 
but a day since, and it would have been thy dearest wish 
to have met him hand to hand in the ranks of battle — 
a hundred times I have heard thee wish it . 77 

“ Ay , 77 said De Bracy, “ but that was, as thou sayest, 
hand to hand, and in the ranks of battle! Thou never 
heardest me breathe a thought of assaulting him alone, 
and in a forest . 77 

“ Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it , 77 
said Waldemar. “ Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac 
and Sir Tristram won renown ? or was it not by encoun¬ 
tering gigantic knights under the shade of deep and un¬ 
known forests ? 77 

“ Ay, but I promise you , 77 said De Bracy, “ that neither 
Tristram nor Lancelot would have been match, hand to 
hand, for Bichard Plantagenet, and I think it was not 
their wont to take odds against a single man . 77 

“ Thou art mad, De Bracy — what is it we propose to 
thee, a hired and retained captain of Free Companions, 
whose swords are purchased for Prince John’s service? 
Thou art apprised of our enemy, and then thou scruplest, 
though thy patron’s fortunes, those of thy comrades, 
thine own, and the life and honour of every one amongst 
us, be at stake ! 77 

“I tell you , 77 said De Bracy, sullenly, “that he gave 
me my life. True, he sent me from his presence, and 
refused my homage — so far I owe him neither favour nor 
allegiance — but I will not lift hand against him . 77 

“ It needs not — send Louis Winkelbrand and a score 
of thy lances . 77 

“Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,” said De 
Bracy; “not one of mine shall budge on such an 
errand.” 

a Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy ? 77 said Prince John; 


368 


IVANHOE. 


“and wilt thou forsake me, after so many protestations 
of zeal for my service ? ” 

“ I mean it not,” said De Bracy ; “ I will abide by you 
in aught that becomes a knight, whether in the lists or in 
the camp; but this highway practice comes not within 
my vow.” 

“Come hither, Waldemar,” said Prince John. “An 
unhappy prince am I. My father, King Henry, had 
faithful servants. — He had but to say that he was 
plagued with a factious priest, and the blood of Thomas- 
a-Becket, saint though he was, stained the steps of his 
own altar. Tracy, Morville, Brito, loyal and daring sub¬ 
jects, your names, your spirit, are extinct! and although 
Reginald Fitzurse hath left a son, he hath fallen off from 
his father’s fidelity and courage.” 

“He has fallen off from neither,” said Waldemar 
Fitzurse; “ and since it may not better be, I will take on 
me the conduct of this perilous enterprise. Dearly, how¬ 
ever, did my father purchase the praise of a zealous 
friend; and yet did his proof of loyalty to Henry fall far 
short of what I am about to afford; for rather would I 
assail a whole calendar of saints than put spear in rest 
against Coeur-de-Lion. — De Bracy, to thee I must trust 
to keep up the spirits of the doubtful, and to guard 
Prince John’s person. If you receive such news as 
I trust to send you, our enterprise will no longer wear a 
doubtful aspect. — Page,” he said, “ hie to my lodgings, 
and tell my armourer to be there in readiness; and bid 
Stephen Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, and the Three Spears 
of Spyinghow come to me instantly; and let the scout¬ 
master, Hugh Bardon, attend me also. — Adieu, my Prince, 
till better times.” Thus speaking, he left the apartment. 

“ He goes to make my brother prisoner,” said Prince 
John to De Bracy, “with as little touch of compunction 
as if it but concerned the liberty of a Saxon franklin. I 
trust he will observe our orders, and use our dear 
Richard’s person with all due respect.” 

De Bracy only answered by a smile. 

“ By the light of Our Lady’s brow,” said Prince John, 
w our orders to him were most precise — though it may be 


IVAN HOE. 


369 


you heard them not, as we stood together in the oriel 
window. — Most clear and positive was our charge that 
Richard’s safety should be cared for, and woe to Walde- 
mar’s head if he transgress it! ” 

“ I had better pass to his lodgings,” said De Bracy, 
“ and make him fully aware of your Grace’s pleasure; 
for, as it quite escaped my ear, it may not perchance have 
reached that of Waldemar.” 

“ 1STay, nay,” said Prince John, impatiently, “ I promise 
thee he heard me; and, besides, I have farther occupa¬ 
tion for thee. Maurice, come hither; let me lean on thy 
shoulder.” 

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar 
posture, and Prince John, with an air of the most confi¬ 
dential intimacy, proceeded to say: “ What thinkest thou 
of this Waldemar Fitzurse, my De Bracy? — He trusts 
to be our Chancellor. Surely we will pause ere we give 
an office so high to one who shows evidently how little 
he reverences our blood, by his so readily undertaking 
this enterprise against Richard. Thou dost think, I 
warrant, that thou hast lost somewhat of our regard by 
thy boldly declining this unpleasant task. — But no, 
Maurice! I rather honour thee for thy virtuous con¬ 
stancy. There are things most necessary to be done, the 
perpetrator of which we neither love nor honour; and 
there may be refusals to serve us which shall rather 
exalt in our estimation those who deny our request. 
The arrest of my unfortunate brother forms no such good 
title to the high office of Chancellor as thy chivalrous 
and courageous denial establishes in thee to the truncheon 
of High Marshal. Think of this, De Bracy, and begone 
to thy charge.” 

“ Fickle tyrant! ” muttered De Bracy, as he left the 
presence of the Prince; “evil luck have they who trust 
thee.— Thy Chancellor, indeed ! He who hath the keep¬ 
ing of thy conscience shall have an easy charge, I trow. 
But High Marshal of England! that,” he said, extending 
his arm, as if to grasp the baton of office, and assuming a 
loftier stride along the ante-chamber, “ that is indeed 
a prize worth playing for!” 


370 


IVANHOE. 


De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince 
John summoned an attendant. 

“ Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come hither, as 
soon as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.” 

The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during 
which John traversed the apartment with unequal and 
disordered steps. 

“ Bardon,” said he, “what did Waldemar desire of 
thee ? ” 

“ Two resolute men, well acquainted with these northern 
wilds, and skilful in tracking the tread of man and 
horse.” 

“ And thou hast fitted him ? ” 

“ Let your Grace never trust me else,” answered the 
master of the spies. “ One is from Hexhamshire; he is 
wont to trace the Tynedale and Teviotdale thieves, as 
a bloodhound follows the slot of a hurt deer. The other 
is Yorkshire bred, and has twanged his bowstring right 
oft in merry Sherwood; he knows each glade and dingle, 
copse and high-wood, betwixt this and Richmond.” 

“’Tis well,” said the Prince. “Goes Waldemar forth 
with them ? ” 

“Instantly,” said Bardon. 

“With what attendance?” asked John, carelessly. 

“Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom 
they call, for his cruelty, Stephen Steel-Heart; and 
three northern men-at-arms that belonged to Ralph 
Middleton’s gang; they are called the Spears of Spying- 
how.” 

“’Tis well,” said Prince John; then added, after a 
moment’s pause: “ Bardon, it imports our service that 
thou keep a strict watch on Maurice de Bracy, so that he 
shall not observe it, however. And let us know of his 
motions from time to time, with whom he converses, 
what he proposeth. Fail not in this, as thou wilt be 
answerable.” 

Hugh Bardon bowed and retired. 

“If Maurice betrays me,” said Prince John — “if he 
betrays me, as his bearing leads me to fear, I will have 
his head, were Richard thundering at the gates of York.” 


IVANHOE. 


371 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 

Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey; 

Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild fanaticism. 

Anonymous. 

Our tale now returns to Isaac of York. Mounted 
upon a mule, the gift of the outlaw, with two tall yeomen 
to act as his guard and guides, the Jew had set out for 
the Preceptory of Templestowe, for the purpose of nego¬ 
tiating his daughter’s redemption. The Preceptory was 
but a day’s journey from the demolished castle of Tor- 
quilstone, and the Jew had hoped to reach it before 
nightfall; accordingly, having dismissed his guides at the 
verge of the forest, and rewarded them with a piece 
of silver, he began to press on with such speed as his 
weariness permitted him to exert. But his strength 
failed him totally ere he had reached within four miles 
of the Temple Court; racking pains shot along his back 
and through his limbs, and the excessive anguish which 
he felt at heart being now augmented by bodily suffering, 
he was rendered altogether incapable of proceeding 
farther than a small market-town, where dwelt a Jewish 
Rabbi of his tribe, eminent in the medical profession, and 
to whom Isaac was well known. Nathan ben Israel re¬ 
ceived his suffering countryman with that kindness 
which the law prescribed, and which the Jews practised 
to each other. He insisted on his betaking himself 
to repose, and used such remedies as were then in most 
repute to check the progress of the fever which terror, 
fatigue, ill-usa,ge, and sorrow had brought upon the poor 
old Jew. 

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and 
pursue his journey, Nathan remonstrated against his 
purpose, both as his host and as his physician. It might 
cost him, he said, his life. But Isaac replied, that 
more than life and death depended upon his going that 
morning to Templestowe. 


372 


IVANHOE. 


“ To Templestowe! ” said his host with surprise; again 
felt his pulse, and then muttered to himself, “ His fever 
is abated, yet seems his mind somewhat alienated and 
disturbed.” 

“ And why not to Templestowe ? ” answered the pa¬ 
tient. “ I grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of 
those to whom the despised Children of the Promise are 
a stumbling-block and an abomination; yet thou know- 
est that pressing affairs of traffic sometimes carry us 
among these bloodthirsty Nazarene soldiers, and that we 
visit the Preceptories of the Templars, as well as the 
Commanderies of the Knights Hospitallers, as they are 
called.” 

“I know it well,” said Nathan; “but wottest thou that 
Lucas de Beaumanoir, the chief of their Order, and whom 
they term Grand Master, is now himself at Temple¬ 
stowe ? ” 

“ I know it not,” said Isaac; “ our last letters from our 
brethren at Paris avised us that he was at that city, be¬ 
seeching Philip for aid against the Sultan Saladine.” 

“ He hath since come to England, unexpected by his 
brethren,” said Ben Israel; “and he cometh among them 
with a strong and outstretched arm to correct and to 
punish. His countenance is kindled in anger against 
those who have departed from the vow which they have 
made, and great is the fear of those sons of Belial. Thou 
must have heard of his name ? ” 

“ It is well known unto me,” said Isaac: “ the Gentiles 
deliver this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous to slay¬ 
ing for every point of the Nazarene law; and our brethren 
have termed him a fierce destroyer of the Saracens, and 
a cruel tyrant to the Children of the Promise.” 

“And truly have they termed him,” said Nathan the 
physician. “Other Templars may be moved from the 
purpose of their heart by pleasure, or bribed by promise 
of gold and silver; but Beaumanoir is of a different 
stamp — hating sensuality, despising treasure, and press¬ 
ing forward to that which they call the crown of martyr¬ 
dom— the God of Jacob speedily send it unto him, and 
unto them all! Specially hath this proud man extended 


IVANHOE. 


37 5 


his glove over the children of Judah, as holy David over 
Edom, holding the murder of a Jew to be an offering of 
as sweet savour as the death of a Saracen. Impious and 
false things has he said even of the virtues of our medi¬ 
cines, as if they were the devices of Satan — the Lord 
rebuke him! ” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Isaac, “ I must present myself at 
Templestowe, though he hath made his face like unto a 
fiery furnace seven times heated.” 

He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of his' 
journey. The Rabbi listened with interest, and testified 
his sympathy after the fashion of his people, rending his 
clothes and saying, “Ah, my daughter ! — ah, my daugh¬ 
ter ! — Alas ! for the beauty of Zion ! — Alas ! for the 
captivity of Israel! ” 

“Thou seest,” said Isaac, “how it stands with me, and 
that I may not tarry. Peradventure, the presence of this 
Lucas Beaumanoir, being the chief man over them, may 
turn Brian de Bois-Guilbert from the ill which he doth 
meditate, and that he may deliver to me my beloved 
daughter Rebecca.” 

“ Go thou,” said Nathan ben Israel, “ and be wise, for 
wisdom availed Daniel in the den of lions into which he 
was cast; and may it go well with thee, even as thine 
heart wisheth. Yet, if thou canst, keep thee from the 
presence of the Grand Master, for to do foul scorn to our 
people is his morning and evening delight. It may be, 
if thou couldst speak with Bois-Guilbert in private, thou 
shalt the better prevail with him; for men say that these 
accursed Nazarenes are not of one mind in the Preceptory 
— may their counsels be confounded and brought to 
shame! But do thou, brother, return to me as if it were 
to the house of thy father, and bring me word how it has 
sped with thee; and well do I hope thou wilt bring with 
thee Rebecca, even the scholar of the wise Miriam, whose 
cures the Gentiles slandered as if they had been wrought 
by necromancy.” 

Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about 
an hour’s riding brought him before the Preceptory of 
Templestowe. 


374 


IVANHOE. 


This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst 
fair meadows and pastures, which the devotion of the 
former Preceptor had bestowed upon their Order. It was 
strong and well fortified, a point never neglected by 
these knights, and which the disordered state of England 
rendered peculiarly necessary. Two halberdiers, clad in 
black, guarded the drawbridge, and others, in the same 
sad livery, glided to and fro upon the walls with a fune¬ 
real pace, resembling spectres more than soldiers. The 
inferior officers of the Order were thus dressed, ever since 
their use of white garments, similar to those of the 
knights and esquires, had given rise to a combination of 
certain false brethren in the mountains of Palestine, 
terming themselves Templars, and bringing great dis¬ 
honour on the Order. A knight was now and then seen 
to cross the court in his long white cloak, his head de¬ 
pressed on his breast, and his arms folded. They passed 
each other, if they chanced to meet, with a slow, solemn, 
and mute greeting; for such was the rule of their Order, 
quoting thereupon the holy texts, “ In many words thou 
shalt not avoid sin,” and “Life and death are in the 
power of the tongue.” In a word, the stern, ascetic 
rigour of the Temple discipline, which had been so 
long exchanged for prodigal and licentious indulgence, 
seemed at once to have revived at Templestowe under 
the severe eye of Lucas Beaumanoir. 

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might 
seek entrance in the manner most likely to bespeak 
favour; for he was well aware that to his unhappy race 
tne reviving fanaticism of the Order was not less danger¬ 
ous than their unprincipled licentiousness; and that his 
religion would be the object of hate and persecution in 
the one case, as his wealth would have exposed him in 
the other to the extortions of unrelenting oppression. 

Meantime, Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small garden 
belonging to the Preceptory, included within the precincts 
of its exterior fortification, and held sad and confidential 
communication with a brother of his Order, who had 
come in his company from Palestine. 


IVANHOE. 


375 


The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was 
testified by his long grey beard, and the shaggy grey eye¬ 
brows, overhanging eyes of which, however, years had 
been nnable to quench the fire. A formidable warrior, 
his thin and severe features retained the soldier’s fierce¬ 
ness of expression; an ascetic bigot, they were no less 
marked by the emaciation of abstinence, and the spiritual 
pride of the self-satisfied devotee. Yet with these se¬ 
verer traits of physiognomy, there was mixed somewhat 
striking and noble, arising, doubtless, from the great 
part which his high office called upon him to act among 
monarchs and princes, and from the habitual exercise of 
supreme authority over the valiant and high-born knights 
who were united by the rules of the Order. His stature 
was tall, and his gait, undepressed by age and toil, was 
erect and stately. His white mantle was shaped with 
severe regularity, according to the rule of St. Bernard 
himself, being composed of what was then called burrel 
cloth, exactly fitted to the size of the wearer, and bearing 
on the left shoulder the octangular cross peculiar to the 
Order, formed of red cloth. No vair or ermine decked 
this garment; but in respect of his age, the Grand Mas¬ 
ter, as permitted by the rules, wore his doublet lined and 
trimmed with the softest lambskin, dressed with the 
wool outwards, which was the nearest approach he could 
regularly make to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury 
of dress. In his hand he bore that singular abacus, or 
staff of office, with which Templars are usually repre¬ 
sented, having at the upper end a round plate, on which 
was engraved the cross of the Order, inscribed within a 
circle or orle, as heralds term it. His companion, who 
attended on this great personage, had nearly the same 
dress in all respects, but his extreme deference toward 
his superior showed that no other equality subsisted be¬ 
tween them. The Preceptor, for such he was in rank, 
walked not in a line with the Grand Master, but just so 
far behind that Beaumanoir could speak to him without 
turning round his head. 

“Conrade,” said the Grand Master, “dear companion 
of my battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone I 


376 


IVANHOE. 


can confide my sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how 
oft, since I came to this kingdom, I have desired to be 
dissolved and to be with the just. Not one object in 
England hath met mine eye which it could rest upon 
with pleasure, save the tombs of our brethren, beneath 
the massive roof of our Temple Church in yonder proud 
capital. ‘ 0 valiant Robert de Eos! ’ did I exclaim in 
ternally, as I gazed upon these good soldiers of the Cross, 
where they lie sculptured on their sepulchres — 1 0 worthy 
William de Mareschal! open your marble cells, and take 
to your repose a weary brother, who would rather strive 
with a hundred thousand pagans than witness the decay 
of our Holy Order.’ ” 

“ It is but true,” answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet, u it 
is but too true; and the irregularities of our brethren in 
England are even more gross than those in France.” 

“ Because they are more wealthy,” answered the Grand 
Master. “ Bear with me, brother, although I should some¬ 
thing vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life I have led, 
keeping each point of my Order, striving with devils em¬ 
bodied and disembodied, striking down the roaring lion, 
who goeth about seeking whom he may devour, like a 
good knight and devout priest, wheresoever I met with 
him — even as blessed St. Bernard hath prescribed to us 
in the forty-fifth capital of our rule, Ut leo semper feriatur. 
But, by the Holy Temple! the zeal which hath devoured 
my substance and my life, yea, the very nerves and mar¬ 
row of my bones —- by that very Holy Temple I swear to 
thee, that save thyself and some few that still retain the 
ancient severity of our Order, I look upon no brethren 
whom I can bring my soul to embrace under that holy 
name. What say our statutes, and how do our brethren 
observe them ? They should wear no vain or worldly 
ornament, no crest upon their helmet, no gold upon stirrup 
or bridle-bit; yet who now go pranked out so proudly and 
so gaily as the poor soldiers of the Temple ? They are 
forbidden by our statutes to take one bird by means of 
another, to shoot beasts with bow or arblast, to halloo to 
a hunting-horn, or to spur the horse after game; but now, 
at hunting and hawking, and each idle sport of wood and 


IVANHOE . 


37 \ 

river, who so prompt as the Templars in all these fond 
vanities ? They are forbidden to read, save what their 
superior permitted, or listen to what is read, save such 
holy things as may be recited aloud during the hours of 
refection; but lo! their hearts are at the command of 
idle minstrels, and their eyes study empty romaunts. 
They were commanded to extirpate magic and heresy, 
lo! they are charged with studying the accursed caba- 
listical secrets of the Jews, and the magic of the paynim 
Saracens. Simpleness of diet was prescribed to them — 
roots, pottage, gruels, eating flesh but thrice a week, be¬ 
cause the accustomed feeding on flesh is a dishonourable 
corruption of the body; and behold, their tables groan 
under delicate fare. Their drink was to be water; and 
now, to drink like a Templar is the boast of each jolly 
boon companion. This very garden, filled as it is with 
curious herbs and trees sent from Eastern climes, better 
becomes the harem of an unbelieving Emir than the plot 
which Christian monks should devote to raise their homely 
pot-herbs.—And oh, Conrade! well it were that the relaxa¬ 
tion of discipline stopped even here !—-Well thou know- 
est that we were forbidden to receive those devout women 
who at the beginning were associated as sisters of our 
Order, because, saith the forty-sixth chapter, the Ancient 
Enemy hath, by female society, withdrawn many from 
the right path to paradise. Hay, in the last capital, being, 
as it were, the copestone which our blessed founder placed 
on the pure and undefiled doctrine which he had enjoined, 
we are prohibited from offering, even to our sisters and 
our mothers, the kiss of affection: ut omnium mulierum 
fugiantur oscula. I shame to speak — I shame to think 
— of the corruptions which have rushed in upon us even 
like a flood. The souls of our pure founders, the spirits 
of Hugh de Payen and Godfrey de St. Omer, and of the 
blessed seven who first joined in dedicating their lives to 
the service of the Temple, are disturbed even in the en¬ 
joyment of paradise itself. I have seen them, Conrade, 
’in the visions of the night — their sainted eyes shed tears 
for the sins and follies of their brethren, and for the foul 
and shameful luxury in vdiich they wallow. ‘Beauma- 


378 


IVANHOE . 


noir, ? they say, ‘ thou slumberest — awake ! There is a 
stain in the fabric of the Temple, deep and foul a s that 
left by the streaks of leprosy on the walls of the infected 
houses of old. The soldiers of the Cross, who should shun 
the glance of a woman as the eye of a basilisk, live in 
open sin, not with the females of their own race only, 
but with the daughters of the accursed heathen, and more 
accursed Jew. Beaumanoir, thou sleepest; up, and 
avenge our cause ! Slay the sinners, male and female I 
Take to thee the brand of Phineas ! ’—The vision fled, Con- 
rade, but as I awaked I could still hear the clank of their 
mail, and see the waving of their white mantles.— And I 
will do according to their word ; I will purify the fabric 
of the Temple; and the unclean stones in which the plague 
is, I will remove and cast out of the building.” 

“Yet bethink thee, reverend father,” said Mont-Fitchet, 
“the stain hath become engrained by time and consuetude; 
let thy reformation be cautious, as it is just and wise.” 

“No, Mont-Fitchet,” answered the stern old man, “it 
must be sharp and sudden; the Order is on the crisis of 
its fate. The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our 
predecessors made us powerful friends—our presumption, 
our wealth, our luxury have raised up against us mighty 
enemies. We must cast away these riches, which are a 
temptation to princes — we must lay down that presump¬ 
tion, which is an offence to them—we must reform that 
licence of manners, which is a scandal to the whole 
Christian world ! Or — mark my words — the Order of 
the Temple will be utterly demolished, and the place 
thereof shall no more be known among the nations.” 

“ Now may God avert such a calamity ! ” said the 
Preceptor. 

“Amen,” said the Grand Master, with solemnity, “but 
we must deserve His aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that 
neither the powers in Heaven, nor the powers on earth, 
will longer endure the wickedness of this generation. 
My intelligence is sure — the ground on which our fabric 
is reared is already undermined, and each addition we 
make to the structure of our greatness will only sink it 
\he sooner in the abyss. We must retrace our steps, and 


IVANHOB. 


379 


show ourselves the faithful Champions of the Cross, 
sacrificing to our calling not alone our blood and our lives, 
not alone our lusts and our vices, but our ease, our com¬ 
forts, and our natural affections, and act as men convinced 
that many a pleasure which may be lawful to others is 
forbidden to the avowed soldier of the Temple.” 

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vest¬ 
ment (for the aspirants after this Holy Order wore during 
their noviciate the cast-off garments of the knights) en¬ 
tered the garden, and, bowing profoundly before the 
Grand Master, stood silent, awaiting his permission ere 
he presumed to tell his errand. 

“ Is it not more seemly,” said the Grand Master, “ to 
see this Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian 
humility, thus appear with reverend silence before his 
superior, than but two days since, when the fond fool 
was decked in a painted coat, and jangling as pert and 
as proud as any popinjay ?— Speak, Damian, we permit 
thee. What is thine errand ? ” 

“A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend 
father,” said the squire, “ who prays to speak with 
brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

" Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,” said 
the Grand Master; “ in our presence a Preceptor is but 
as a common compeer of our Order, who may not walk 
according to his own will, but to that of his Master, even 
according to the text, ‘ In the hearing of the ear he hath 
obeyed me.’ It imports us especially to know of this 
Bois-Guilbert’s proceedings,” said he, turning to his 
companion. 

“ Beport speaks him brave and valiant,” said Conrade. 
a And truly is he so spoken of,” said the Grand Master; 
“ in our valour only we are not degenerated from our 
predecessors, the heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian 
came into our Order a moody and disappointed man, 
stirred, I doubt me, to take our vows and to renounce the 
world, not in sincerity of soul, but as one whom some 
touch of light discontent had driven into penitence. Since 
then he hath become an active and earnest agitator, a 
murmurer, and a machinator, and a leader amongst those 


380 


IVANHOE. 


who impugn our authority; not considering that the 
rule is given to the Master even by the symbol of the 
staff and the rod—the staff to support the infirmi- 
ties of the weak — the rod to correct the faults of delin¬ 
quents.— Damian/’ he continued. “lead the Jew to our 
presence.” 

The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in 
a few minutes returned, marshalling in Isaac of York. 
No naked slave, ushered into the presence of some 
mighty prince, could approach his judgment-seat with 
more profound reverence and terror than that with 
which the Jew drew near to the presence of the Grand 
Master. When he had approached within the distance 
of three yards, Beaumanoir made a sign with his staff 
that he should come no farther. The Jew kneeled down 
on the earth, which he kissed in token of reverence; 
then rising, stood before the Templars, his hands folded 
on his bosom, his head bowed on his breast, in all the 
submission of Oriental slavery. 

“Damian,” said the Grand Master, “retire, and have 
a guard ready to await our sudden call; and suffer no 
one to enter the garden until we shall leave it.” — The 
squire bowed and retreated. — “Jew,” continued the 
haughty old man, “mark me. It suits not our condition 
to hold with thee long communication, nor do we waste 
words or time upon any one. Wherefore be brief in thy 
answers to what questions I shall ask thee, and let thy 
words be of truth; for if thy tongue doubles with me, I 
will have it torn from thy misbelieving jaws.” 

The Jew was abodt to reply; but the Grand Master 
went on. 

“ Peace, unbeliever! not a word in our presence, save 
in answer to our questions. — What is thy business with 
our brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his 
tale might be interpreted into scandalising the Order: 
yet, unless he told it, what hope could he have of achiev¬ 
ing his daughter’s deliverance ? Beaumanoir saw his 
mortal apprehension, and condescended to give him some 
assurance. 
















































































































































1VANH0E. 


381 


“Fear nothing,” he said, “for thy wretched person, 
Jew, so thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand 
again to know from thee thy business with Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

“I am bearer of a letter,” stammered out the Jew, “so 
please your reverend valour, to that good knight, from 
Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.” 

“ Said I not these were evil times, Conrade ? ” said the 
Master. “ A Cistercian Prior sends a letter to a soldier 
of the Temple, and can find no more fitting messenger 
than an unbelieving Jew. — Give me the letter.” 

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his 
Armenian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior’s 
tablets for the greater security, and was about to approach, 
with hand extended and body crouched, to place it within 
the reach of his grim interrogator. 

“Back, dog!” said the Grand Master; “I touch not 
misbelievers, save with the sword. — Conrade, take thou 
the letter from the Jew and give it to me.” 

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, in¬ 
spected the outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo 
the pack-thread which secured its folds. “Beverend 
father,” said Conrade, interposing, though with much 
deference, “ wilt thou break the seal ? ” 

“And will I not?” said Beaumanoir, with a frown.. 
“ Is it not written in the forty-second capital, De Lectione 
Literarum , that a Templar shall not receive a letter, no, 
not from his father, without communicating the same to 
the Grand Master, and reading it in his presence ? ” 

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expression 
of surprise and horror; read it over again more slowly; 
then holding it out to Conrade with one hand, and 
slightly striking it with the other, exclaimed: “ Here is 
goodly stuff for one Christian man to write to another, 
and both members, and no inconsiderable members, of 
religious professions ! When,” said. he, solemnly, and 
looking upward, “ wilt Thou come with Thy fanners to 
purge the thrashing-floor ? ” 

Mont-Fitehet took the letter from his superior, and was 
about to peruse it. “Bead it aloud, Conrade,” said the 


382 


IVANHOE. 


Grand Master; and do thou (to Isaac) attend to the pun 
port of it, for we will question thee concerning it.” 

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words: 

“ Aymer, by divine grace, Prior of the Cistercian house of St. 
Mary’s of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a Knight of the 
Holy Order of the Temple, wisheth health, with the bounties of 
King Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. Touching our present con¬ 
dition, dear Brother, we are a captive in the hands of certain law¬ 
less and godless men, who have not feared to detain our person, 
and put us to ransom : whereby we have also learned of Front-de- 
Boeuf’s misfortune, and that thou hast escaped with that fair 
Jewish sorceress whose black eyes have bewitched thee. We are 
heartily rejoiced of thy safety ; nevertheless, we pray thee to be 
on thy guard in the matter of this second Witch of Endor; for we 
are privately assured that your Great Master, who careth not a 
bean for cherry cheeks and black eyes, comes from Normandy to 
diminish your mirth and amend your misdoings. Wherefore we 
pray you heartily to beware, and to be found watching, even as 
the Holy Text hath it, Invenientur vigilantes. And the wealthy 
Jew her father, Isaac of York, having prayed of me letters in his 
behalf, I gave him these, earnestly advising, and in a sort entreat¬ 
ing, that you do hold the damsel to ransom, seeing he will pay you 
from his bags as much as may find fifty damsels upon safer terms, 
whereof I trust to have my part when we make merry together, as 
true brothers, not forgetting the wine-cup. For what saith the 
text, Vinum Icetificat cor hominis; and again, Bex delectabitur 
pulchritudine tua. 

“Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell. Given from 
this den of thieves, about the hour of matins, 

“ Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis. 

“ Postscriptum. —Truly your golden chain hath not long abidden 
with me, and will now sustain, around the neck of an outlaw deer- 
stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth on his hounds.” 

“ What sayest thou to this, Conrade ? ” said the Grand 
Master. “Den of thieves ! and a fit residence is a den of 
thieves for such a Prior. No wonder that the hand of 
God is upon us, and that in the Holy Land we lose place 
by place, foot by foot, before the infidels, when we have 
such churchmen as this Aymer. — And what meaneth he, 
I trow, by ‘this second Witch of Endor’?” said he to 
his confidant, something apart. 

Conrade was better acquainted, perhaps by practice, 


IVANHOE. 


383 


with the jargon of gallantry than was his superior; and 
he expounded the passage which embarrassed the Grand 
Master to be a sort of language used by worldly men tow¬ 
ard those whom they loved par amours; but the expla¬ 
nation did not satisfy the bigoted Beaumanoir. 

“ There is more in it than thou dost guess, Conrade; 
thy simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of wicked¬ 
ness. This Rebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam 
of whom thou hast heard. Thou shalt hear the Jew own 
it even now.” Then turning to Isaac, he said aloud, 
“ Thy daughter, then, is prisoner with Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert ? ” 

“Ay, reverend valorous sir,” stammered poor Isaac, 
“ and whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for her de¬ 
liverance -” 

“ Peace! ” said the Grand Master. “ This thy daughter 
hath practised the art of healing, hath she not ? ” 

“Ay, gracious sir,” answered the Jew, with more confi¬ 
dence ; “ and knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may 
bless the goodly gift which Heaven hath assigned to her. 
Many a one can testify that she hath recovered them by 
her art, when every other human aid hath proved vain; 
but the blessing of the God of Jacob was upon her.” 

Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grim smile. 
“ See, brother,” he said, “ the deceptions of the devour¬ 
ing Enemy! Behold the baits with wdiich he fishes for 
souls, giving a poor space of earthly life in exchange for 
eternal happiness hereafter. Well said our blessed rule, 
Semper percutiatur leo vorans. — Upon the lion! Down 
with the destroyer! ” said he, shaking aloft his mystic 
abacus, as if in defiance of the powers of darkness. 
“ Thy daughter worketh the cures, I doubt not,” thus he 
went on to address the Jew, “by words and sigils, and 
periapts, and other cabalistical mysteries.” 

“Hay, reverend and brave knight,” answered Isaac, 
“ but in chief measure by a balsam of marvellous virtue.” 

“ Where had she that secret ? ” said Beaumanoir. 

“It was delivered to her,” answered Isaac, reluctantly, 
“by Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.” 

“ Ah, false Jew! ” said the Grand Master; “ was it not 



384 


IVANHOE. 


from that same witch Miriam, the abomination of whose 
enchantments have been heard of throughout every Chris¬ 
tian land ? ” exclaimed the Grand Master, crossing him¬ 
self. “ Her body was burnt at a stake, and her ashes 
were scattered to the four winds; and so be it with me 
and mine Order, if I do not as much to her pupil, and more 
also! I will teach her to throw spell and incantation over 
the soldiers of the blessed Temple!—There, Damian, 
spurn this Jew from the gate; shoot him dead if he 
oppose or turn again. With his daughter we will deal 
as the Christian law and our own high office warrant.” 

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled 
from the Preceptory, all his entreaties, and even his 
offers, unheard and disregarded. He could do no better 
than return to the house of the Rabbi, and endeavour, 
through his means, to learn how his daughter was to be 
disposed of. He had hitherto feared for her honour; 
he was now to tremble for her life. Meanwhile, the 
Grand Master ordered to his presence the Preceptor of 
Templestowe. 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 

Say not my art is fraud : all live by seeming. 

The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming; 

The clergy scorn it not; and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. All admit it, 

All practise it; and he who is content 

With showing what he is shall have small credit 

In church, or camp, or state. So wags the world. 

Old Play. 

Albert Malvoisin, President, or, in the language of 
the Order, Preceptor of the establishment of Templestowe, 
was brother to that Philip Malvoisin who has been already 
Dccasionally mentioned in this history, and was, like that 
baron, in close league with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 

Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the 
Temple Order included but too many, Albert of Temple¬ 
stowe might be distinguished; but with this difference 


IVANHOE. 


385 


from the audacious Bois-Guilbert, that he knew how to 
throw over his vices and his ambition the veil of hypoc¬ 
risy, and to assume in his exterior the fanaticism which 
he internally despised. Had not the arrival of the Grand 
Master been so unexpectedly sudden, he would have seen 
aothing at Templestowe which might have appeared to 
argue any relaxation of discipline. And, even although 
surprised, and to a certain extent detected, Albert Mal- 
voisin listened with such respect and apparent contrition 
to the rebuke of his superior, and made such haste to 
reform the particulars he censured — succeeded, in line, 
so well in giving an air of ascetic devotion to a family 
which had been lately devoted to license and pleasure, 
that Lucas Beaumanoir began to entertain a higher 
opinion of the Preceptor’s morals than the first appear¬ 
ance of the establishment had inclined him to adopt. 

But these favourable sentiments on the part of the 
Grand Master were greatly shaken by the intelligence 
that Albert had received within a house of religion the 
Jewish captive, and, as was to be feared, the paramour 
of a brother of the Order; and w r hen Albert appeared 
before him he was regarded with unwonted sternness. 

“ There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes 
of the Holy Order of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, 
in a severe tone, “ a Jewish woman, brought hither by a 
brother of religion, by your connivance, Sir Preceptor.” 

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion; 
for the unfortunate Bebecca had been confined in a 
remote and secret part of the building, and every pre¬ 
caution used to prevent her residence there from being 
known. He read in the looks of Beaumanoir ruin to 
Bois-Guilbert and to himself, unless he should be able 
to avert the impending storm. 

“ Why are you mute ? ” continued the Grand Master. 

“ Is it permitted to me to reply ? ” answered the Pre¬ 
ceptor, in a tone of the deepest humility, although by the 
question he only meant to gain an instant’s space for 
arranging his ideas. 

“ Speak, you are permitted,” said the Grand Master —• 
“ speak, and say, kno^vest thou the capital of our holy 


386 


IVANHOE. 


rule: De commilitonibus Templi in sancta civitate , qui 
cum miserrimis mulieribus versantur, propter oblectationem 
carnis f ” 

“ Surely, most reverend father,” answered the Precep¬ 
tor, “ I have not risen to this office in the Order, being 
ignorant of one of its most important prohibitions.” 

“ How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, that 
thou hast suffered a brother to bring a paramour, and that 
paramour a Jewish sorceress, into this holy place, to the 
stain and pollution thereof ? ” . 

“ A Jewish sorceress ! ” echoed Albert Malvoisin, “good 
angels guard us ! ” 

“Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress,” said the Grand 
Master, sternly. “ I have said it. Darest thou deny 
that this Rebecca, the daughter of that wretched usurer 
Isaac of York, and the pupil of the foul witch Miriam, 
is now — shame to be thought or spoken! — lodged within 
this thy Preceptory ? ” 

“Your wisdom, reverend father,” answered the Pre¬ 
ceptor, “ hath rolled away the darkness from my under¬ 
standing. Much did I wonder that so good a knight as 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert seemed so fondly besotted on the 
charms of this female, whom I received into this house 
merely to place a bar betwixt their growing intimacy, 
which else might have been cemented at the expense of 
the fall of our valiant and religious brother.” 

“ Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in 
breach of his vow ? ” demanded the Grand Master. 

“ What! under this roof ? ” said the Preceptor, cross¬ 
ing himself; “ St. Magdalene and the ten thousand vir¬ 
gins forbid!— No! if I have sinned in receiving her here, 
it was in the erring thought that I might thus break off 
our brother’s besotted devotion to this Jewess, which 
seemed to me so wild and unnatural, that I could not but 
ascribe it to some touch of insanity, more to be cured by 
pity than reproof. But, since your reverend wisdom hath 
discovered this Jewish quean to be a sorceress, perchance 
it may account fully for his enamoured folly.” 

“ It doth! — it doth ! ” said Beaumanoir. “ See, brother 
Conrade, the peril of yielding to the first devices and 


IVANHOE. 


387 


blandishments of Satan! We look upon woman only to 
gratify the lust of the eye, and to take pleasure in what 
men call her beauty; and the ancient Enemy, the devour¬ 
ing lion, obtains power over us, to complete, by talisman 
and spell, a work which was begun by idleness and folly. 
It may be that our brother Bois-Guilbert does in this 
matter deserve rather pity than severe chastisement, 
rather the support of the staff than the strokes of the 
rod; and that our admonitions and prayers may turn him 
from his folly, and restore him to his brethren.” 

“It were deep pity,” said Conrade Mont-Fitchet, “to 
lose to the Order one of its best lances, when the holy 
community most requires the aid of its sons. Three hun¬ 
dred Saracens hath this Brian de Bois-Guilbert slain with 
his own hand.” 

“The blood of these accursed dogs,” said the Grand 
Master, “ shall be a sweet and acceptable offering to the 
saints and angels whom they despise and blaspheme; and 
with their aid will we counteract the spells and charms 
with which our brother is entwined as in a net. He shall 
burst the bands of this Delilah as Samson burst the two 
new cords with which the Philistines had bound him, and 
shall slaughter the infidels, even heaps upon heaps. But 
concerning this foul witch, who hath flung her enchant¬ 
ments over a brother of the Holy Temple, assuredly she 
shall die the death.” 

“ But the laws of England-” said the Preceptor, 

who, though delighted that the Grand Master’s resent¬ 
ment, thus fortunately averted from himself and Bois- 
Guilbert, had taken another direction, began now to fear 
he was carrying it too far. 

“ The laws of England,” interrupted Beaumanoir, “ per¬ 
mit and enjoin each judge to execute justice within his 
own jurisdiction. The most petty baron may arrest, try, 
and condemn a witch found within his own domain. And 
shall that power be denied to the Grand Master of the 
Temple within the Preceptory of his Order? Ho! we 
will judge and condemn. The witch shall be taken out 
of the land, and the wickedness thereof shall be forgiven. 
Prepare the Castle hall for the trial of the sorceress.” 



388 


IVAN HOE. 


Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired, not to give direc¬ 
tions for preparing the hall, but to seek out Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, and communicate to him how matters were 
likely to terminate. It was not long ere he found him, 
foaming with indignation at a repulse he had anew sus¬ 
tained from the fair Jewess. “ The unthinking,” he 
said, “the ungrateful, to scorn him who, amidst blood 
and flames, would have saved her life at the risk of his 
own! By Heaven, Malvoisin! I abode until roof and 
rafters crackled and crashed around me. I was the butt 
of a hundred arrows; they rattled on mine armour like 
hailstones against a latticed casement, and the only use 
I made of my shield was for her protection. This did I 
endure for her, and now the self-willed girl upbraids me 
that I did not leave her to perish, and refuses me not 
only the slightest proof of gratitude, but even the most 
distant hope that ever she will be brought to grant any. 
The devil, that possessed her race with obstinacy, has 
concentrated its full force in her single person! ” 

“ The devil,” said the Preceptor, “ I think, possessed 
you both. How oft have I preached to you caution, if 
not continence ? Did I not tell you that there were 
enough willing Christian damsels to be met with, who 
would think it sin to refuse so brave a knight le don 
d’amoureux merci, and you must needs anchor your affec¬ 
tion on a wilful, obstinate Jewess! By the mass, I think 
old Lucas Beaumanoir guesses right, when he maintains 
she hath cast a spell over you.” 

“Lucas Beaumanoir?” said Bois-Guilbert, reproach¬ 
fully. “ Are these your precautions, Malvoisin ? Hast 
thou suffered the dotard to learn that Bebecca is in the 
Preceptory ? ” 

“ How could I help it ? ” said the Preceptor. “ I neg¬ 
lected nothing that could keep secret your mystery; but it 
is betrayed, and whether by the devil or no, the devil only 
can tell. But I have turned the matter as I could ; you 
are safe if you renounce Bebecca. You are pitied — the 
victim of magical delusion. She is a sorceress, and must 
suffer as such.” 

“ She shall not, by Heaven ! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 


IVaNHOE. 


389 


“By Heaven, she must and will!” said Malvoisin. 
“Neither you nor any one else can save her. Lucas 
Beaumanoir hath settled that the death of a Jewess will 
be a sin-offering sufficient to atone for all the amorous 
indulgences of the Knights Templars; and thou knowest 
he hath both the power and will to execute so reasonable 
and pious a purpose.” 

“Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry 
ever existed!” said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down 
the apartment. 

“ What they may believe, I know not,” said Malvoisin, 
calmly; “ but I know well, that in this our day clergy 
and laymen, take ninety-nine to the hundred, will cry 
‘ Amen’ to the Grand Master’s sentence.” 

“ I have it,” said Bois-Guilbert. “ Albert, thou art my 
friend. Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and 
I will transport her to some place of greater security and 
secrecy.” 

“I cannot, if I would,” replied the Preceptor; “the 
mansion is filled with the attendants of the Grand Mas¬ 
ter, and others who are devoted to him. And, to be 
frank with you, brother, I would not embark with you 
in this matter, even if I could hope to bring my bark to 
haven. I have risked enough already for your sake. I 
have no mind to encounter a sentence of degradation, or 
even to lose my Preceptory, for the sake of a painted 
piece of Jewish flesh and blood. And you, if you will 
be guided by my counsel, will give up this wild-goose 
chasey and fly your hawk at some other game. Think, 
Bois-Guilbert — thy present rank, thy future honours, all 
depend on thy place in the Order. Shouldst thou adhere 
perversely to thy passion for this Rebecca, thou wilt give 
Beaumanoir the power of expelling thee, and he will not 
neglect it. He is jealous of the truncheon which he 
holds in his trembling gripe, and he knows thou stretch- 
est thy bold hand towards it. Doubt not he will ruin 
thee, if thou affordest him a pretext so fair as thy pro¬ 
tection of a Jewish sorceress. Give him his scope in 
this matter, for thou canst not control him. When the 
staff is in thine own firm grasp, thou mayest caress the 


390 


IVAN HOE. 


daughters of Judah, or burn them, as may best suit thine 
own humour.” 

“Malvoisin,” said Bois-Guilbert, “thou art a cold¬ 
blooded -” 

“ Friend,” said the Preceptor, hastening to fill up the 
blank, in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed 
a worse word — “a cold-blooded friend I am, and therefore 
more fit to give thee advice. I tell thee once more, that 
thou canst not save Bebecca. I tell thee once more, thou 
canst but perish with her. Go hie thee to the Grand 
Master; throw thyself at his feet and tell him-” 

“ISTot at his feet, by Heaven ! but to the dotard’s very 
beard will I say-” 

“ Say to him, then, to his beard,” continued Malvoisin, 
coolly, “that you love this captive Jewess to distraction; 
and the more thou dost enlarge on thy passion, the 
greater will be his haste to end it by the death of the 
fair enchantress; while thou, taken in flagrant delict by 
the avowal of a crime contrary to thine oath, canst hope 
no aid of thy brethren, and must exchange all thy brill¬ 
iant visions of ambition and power, to lift perhaps a 
mercenary spear in some of the petty quarrels between 
Flanders and Burgundy.” 

“Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,” said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, after a moment’s reflection. “I will give 
the hoary bigot no advantage over me; and for Bebecca, 
she hath not merited at my hand that I should expose 
rank and honour for her sake. I will cast her off; yes, 
I will leave her to her fate, unless-” 

“ Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution,” said 
Malvoisin; “women are but the toys which amuse our 
lighter hours — ambition is the serious business of life. 
Perish a thousand such frail baubles as this Jewess, 
before thy manly step pause in the brilliant career that 
lies stretched before thee! For the present we part, nor 
must we be seen to hold close conversation; I must order 
the hall for his judgment-seat.” 

“ What! ” said Bois-Guilbert, “ so soon ? ” 

“Ay,” replied the Preceptor, “trial moves rapidly on 
when the judge has determined the sentence beforehand.” 





IVANHOE. 


391 


“ Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, when be was left alone, 
u tbou art like to cost me dear. — Why cannot I abandon 
thee to thy fate, as this calm hypocrite recommends ? — 
One effort will I make to save thee; but beware of in¬ 
gratitude! for, if I am again repulsed, my vengeance 
shall equal my love. The life and honour of Bois- 
Gnilbert must not be hazarded, where contempt and 
reproaches are his only reward.” 

The Preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, 
when he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet, who 
acquainted him with the Grand Master’s resolution to 
bring the Jewess to instant trial for sorcery. 

“ It is surely a dream,” said the Preceptor; “ we have 
many Jewish physicians, and we call them not wizards, 
though they work wonderful cures.” 

“ The Grand Master thinks otherwise,” said Mont- 
Fitchet ; “ and, Albert, I will be upright with thee — 
wizard or not, it were better that this miserable damsel 
die than that Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be lost to 
the Order, or the Order divided by internal dissension. 
Thou knowest his high rank, his fame in arms; thou 
knowest the zeal with which many of our brethren 
regard him; but all this will not avail him with our 
Grand Master, should he consider Brian as the accom¬ 
plice, not the victim, of this Jewess. Were the souls of 
the twelve tribes in her single body, it were better she 
suffered alone, than that Bois-Guilbert were partner in 
her destruction.” 

“ I have been working him even now to abandon her,” 
said Malvoisin; “but still, are there grounds enough to 
condemn this Rebecca for sorcery ? Will not the Grand 
Master change his mind when he sees that the proofs are 
so wmak ? ” 

“They must be strengthened, Albert,” replied Mont- 
Fitchet— “they must be strengthened. Dost thou un 
derstand me ? ” 

“I do,” said the Preceptor, “nor do I scruple to do 
aught for advancement of the Order; but there is little 
time to find engines fitting.” 

“ Malvoisin, they must be found,” said Conrade; “ well 


392 


IVANIIOE. 


will it advantage both, the Order and thee. This Tempie* 
stowe is a poor Preceptory — that of Maison-Dieu is worth 
double its value. — Thou knowest my interest with our 
old Chief — find those who can carry this matter through, 
and thou art Preceptor of Maison-Dieu in the fertile 
Kent. — How sayst thou ? ” 

“ There is,” replied Malvoisin, “ among those who 
came hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well 
know; servants they were to my brother Philp de Mal¬ 
voisin, and passed from his service to that of Front-de- 
Boeuf. — It may be they know something of the witch¬ 
eries of this woman.” 

“ Away, seek them out instantly — and hark thee, if a 
byzant or two will sharpen their memory, let them not 
be wanting.” 

“ They would swear the mother that bore them a 
sorceress, for a zecchin,” said the Preceptor. 

“ Away, then,” said Mont-Fitchet; “ at noon the affair 
will proceed. I have not seen our senior in such earnest 
preparation since he condemned to the stake Hamet 
Alfagi, a convert who relapsed to the Moslem faith.” 

The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of 
noon, when Rebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the 
private stair which led to her place of confinement. The 
noise announced the arrival of several persons, and the 
circumstance rather gave her joy; for she was more 
afraid of the solitary visits of the fierce and passionate 
Bois-Guilbert than of any evil that could befall her be¬ 
sides. The door of the chamber was unlocked, and 
Conrade and the Preceptor Malvoisin entered, attended 
by four warders clothed in black, and bearing halberds. 

“ Daughter of an accursed race! ” said the Preceptor, 
u arise and follow us.” 

“ Whither,” said Rebecca, “ and for what purpose ? ” 

“Damsel,” answered Conrade, “it is not for thee to 
question, but to obey. Nevertheless, be it known to thee 
that thou art to be brought before the tribunal of the 
Grand Master of our Holy Order, there to answer for 
thine offences.” 

“ May the God of Abraham be praised! ” said Rebecca. 


IVANHOE. 


393 


folding her hands devoutly; “the name of a judge, 
though an enemy to my people, is to me as the name of 
a protector. Most willingly do I follow thee; permit me 
only to wrap my veil around my head.” 

They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, 
traversed a long gallery, and, by a pair of folding-doors 
placed at the end, entered the great hall in which the 
Grand Master had for the time established his court of 
justice. 

The lower part of this ample apartment was filled 
with squires and yeomen, who made way, not without 
some difficulty, for Rebecca, attended by the Preceptor 
and Mont-Fitchet, and followed by the guard of halber¬ 
diers, to move forward to the seat appointed for her. As 
she passed through the crowd, her arms folded and her 
head depressed, a scrap of paper was thrust into her 
hand, which she received almost unconsciously, and 
continued to hold without examining its contents. The 
assurance that she possessed some friend in this awful 
assembly gave her courage to look around, and to mark 
into whose presence she had been conducted. She 
gazed, accordingly,, upon the scene, which we shall 
endeavour to describe in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Stern was the law which bade its vot’ries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; 

Stern was the law, which at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile; 

But sterner still, when high the iron rod 

Of tyrant power she shook, and call’d that power of God. 

The Middle Ages. 

The tribunal erected for the trial of the innocent and 
unhappy Rebecca, occupied the dais or elevated part of 
the upper end of the great hall — a platform which we 
have already described as the place of honour, destined 
to be occupied by the most distinguished inhabitants or 
guests of an ancient mansion. 


394 


IVANHOE. 


On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat 
the Grand Master of the Temple, in full and ample robes 
of flowing white, holding in his hand the mystic staff 
which bore the symbol of the Order. At his feet was 
placed a table, occupied by two scribes, chaplains of the 
Order, whose duty it was to reduce to formal record the 
proceedings of the day. The black dresses, bare scalps, 
and demure looks of these churchmen formed a strong 
contrast to the warlike appearance of the knights who 
attended, either as residing in the Preceptory or as come 
thither to attend upon their Grand Master. The Precep¬ 
tors of whom there were four present, occupied seats 
lower in height and somewhat drawn back behind that 
of their superior; and the knights who enjoyed no such 
rank in the Order were placed on benches still lower, and 
preserving the same distance from the Preceptors as 
these from the Grand Master. Behind them, but still 
upon the dais or elevated portion of the hall, stood the 
esquires of the Order, in white dresses of an inferior 
quality. 

The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most pro¬ 
found gravity; and in the faces of the knights might be 
perceived traces of military daring, united with the sol¬ 
emn carriage becoming men of a religious profession, and 
which, in the presence of their Grand Master, failed not 
to sit upon every brow. 

The remaining and lower part of the hall was filled 
with guards, holding partisans, and with other attendants 
whom curiosity had drawn thither to see at once a Grand 
Master and a Jewish sorceress. By far the greater part 
of those inferior persons were, in one rank or other, con¬ 
nected with the Order, and were accordingly distinguished 
by their black dresses. But peasants from the neighbour¬ 
ing country were not refused admittance ; for it was the 
pride of Beaumanoir to render the edifying spectacle of 
the justice which he administered as public as possible. 
His large blue eyes seemed to expand as he gazed around 
the assembly, and his countenance appeared elated by 
the conscious dignity and imaginary merit of the part 
which he was about to perform. A psalm, which he 


IVANHOE. 


395 


himself accompanied with a deep mellow voice, which 
age had not deprived of its powers, commenced the pro¬ 
ceedings of the day; and the solemn sounds, Venite, ex- 
ultemus Domino , so often sung by the Templars before 
engaging with earthly adversaries, was judged by Lucas 
most appropriate to introduce the approaching triumph, 
for such he deemed it, over the powers of darkness. The 
deep prolonged notes, raised by a hundred masculine 
voices accustomed to combine in the choral chant, arose 
to the vaulted roof of the hall, and rolled on amongst its 
arches with the pleasing yet solemn sound of the rush¬ 
ing of mighty waters. 

When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced 
his eye slowly around the circle, and observed that the 
seat of one of the Preceptors was vacant. Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, by whom it had been occupied, had left 
his place, and was now standing near the extreme corner 
of one of the benches occupied by the Knights Compan¬ 
ions of the Temple, one hand extending his long mantle, 
so as in some degree to hide his face; while the other 
held his cross-handled sword, with the point of which, 
sheathed as it was, he was slowly drawing lines upon the 
oaken floor. 

“ Unhappy man! ” said the Grand Master, after fa¬ 
vouring him with a glance of compassion. “ Thou seest, 
Conrade, how this holy work distresses him. To this 
can the light look of woman, aided by the Prince of 
the Powers of this world, bring a valiant and worthy 
knight! — Seest thou he cannot look upon us; he can¬ 
not look upon her; and who knows by what impulse 
from his tormentor his hand forms these cabalistic lines 
upon the floor ? It may be our life and safety are thus 
aimed at; but we spit at and defy the foul enemy. 
Semper Leo percutiatur ! ” 

This was communicated apart to his confidential fol¬ 
lower, Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master then 
raised his voice and addressed the assembly. 

“Reverend and valiant men, Knights, Preceptors, and 
Companions of this Holy Order, my brethren and my 
children! — you also, well-born and pious esquires, who 


3 % 


IVANHOE. 


aspire to wear this Holy Cross ! — and you also, Christian 
brethren, of every degree! — be it known to you, that 
it is not defect of power in us which hath occasioned 
the assembling of this congregation; for, however un¬ 
worthy in our person, yet to us is committed, with this 
batoon, full power to judge, and to try all that regards 
the weal of this our Holy Order. Holy St. Bernard, in 
the rule of our knightly and religious profession, hath 
said, in the fifty-ninth capital, that he would not that 
brethren be called together in council, save at the will 
and command of the Master; leaving it free to us, as to 
those more worthy fathers who have preceded us in this 
our office, to judge as well of the occasion as of the time 
and place in which a chapter of the whole Order, or of 
any part thereof, may be convoked. Also, in all such 
chapters, it is our duty to hear the advice of our brethren 
and to proceed according to our own pleasure. But when 
the raging wolf hath made an inroad upon the flock, and 
carried off one member thereof, it is the duty of' the 
kind shepherd to call his comrades together, that with 
bows and slings they may quell the invader, according 
to our well-known rule, that the lion is ever to be beaten 
down. We have therefore summoned to our presence a 
Jewish woman, by name Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of 
York — a woman infamous for sortileges and for witch¬ 
eries ; whereby she hath maddened the blood, and be¬ 
sotted the brain, not of a churl, but of a Knight — not 
of a secular Knight, but of one devoted to the service of 
the Holy Temple—not of a Knight Companion, but 
of a Preceptor of our Order, first in honour as in place. 
Our brother, Brian de Bois-G-uilbert, is well known to 
ourselves, and to all degrees who now hear me, as a true 
and zealous champion of the Cross, by whose arm many 
deeds of valour have been wrought in the Holy Land, 
and the holy places purified from pollution by the blood 
of those infidels who defiled them. Neither have our 
brother’s sagacity and prudence been less in repute among 
his brethren than his valour and discipline; insomuch 
that knights, both in eastern and western lands, have 
named De Bois-Guilbert as one who may well be put 


IVANHOE. 


397 


in nomination as successor to this batoon, when it shall 
please Heaven to release ns from the toil of bearing it. 
If we were told that such a man, so honoured, and so 
honourable, suddenly casting away regard for his char¬ 
acter, his vows, his brethren, and his prospects, had 
associated to himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in this 
lewd company through solitary places, defended her 
person in preference to his own, and, finally, was so 
utterly blinded and besotted by his folly, as to bring her 
even to one of our own Preceptories, what should we say 
but that the noble knight was possessed by some evil 
demon, or influenced*by some wicked spell? — If we 
could suppose it otherwise, think not rank, valour, high 
repute, or any earthly consideration, should prevent us 
from visiting him with punishment, that the evil thing 
might be removed, even according to the text, Auferte 
malum ex vobis. Por various and heinous are the acts of 
transgression against the rule of our blessed Order in 
this lamentable history — 1st, He hath walked accord¬ 
ing to his proper will, contrary to capital 33, Quod 
nullus juxta propriam voluntatem incedat —2d, He hath 
held communication with an excommunicated person, 
capital 57, Ut fratres non participent cum excommunicatis , 
and therefore hath a portion in Anathema Maranatha — 
3d, He hath conversed with strange women, contrary to 
the capital, Ut fratres non conversentur cum extraneis 
mulieribus — 4th, He hath not avoided, nay, he hath, it 
is to be feared, solicited, the kiss of woman, by which, 
saith the last rule of our renowned Order, Ut fugiantur 
oscula, the soldiers of the Cross are brought into a 
snare. Por which heinous and multiplied guilt, Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert should be cut off and cast out from our 
congregation, were he the right hand and right eye 
thereof.” 

He paused. A low murmur went through the assem¬ 
bly. Some of the younger part, who had been inclined 
to smile at the statute, De osculis fugiendis, became now 
grave enough, and anxiously waited what the Grand 
Master was next to propose. 

“ Such,” he said, “ and so great should indeed be the 


398 


IVANHOE. 


punishment of a Knight Templar who wilfully offended 
against the rules of his Order in such weighty points. 
But if, by means of charms and of spells, Satan had ob¬ 
tained dominion over the Knight, perchance because he 
cast his eyes too lightly upon a damsel’s beauty, we are 
then rather to lament than chastise his backsliding; and, 
imposing on him only such penance as may purify him 
from his iniquity, we are to turn the full edge of our 
indignation upon the accursed instrument, which had 
so well-nigh occasioned his utter falling away. — Stand 
forth, therefore, and bear witness, ye who have witnessed 
these unhappy doings, that we may judge of the sum and 
bearing thereof; and judge whether our justice may be 
satisfied with the punishment of this infidel woman, or 
if we must go on, with a bleeding heart, to the further 
proceeding against our brother.” 

Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks 
to which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavouring 
to save Rebecca from the blazing castle, and his neglect 
of his personal defence in attending to her safety. The 
men gave these details with the exaggerations common 
to vulgar minds which have been strongly excited by 
any remarkable event, and their natural disposition to 
the marvellous was greatly increased by the satisfaction 
which their evidence seemed to afford to the eminent 
person for whose information it had been delivered. 
Thus the dangers which Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in 
themselves sufficiently great, became portentous in their 
narrative. The devotion of the Knight to Rebecca’s de¬ 
fence was exaggerated beyond the bounds not only of 
discretion, but even of the most frantic excess of chival¬ 
rous zeal; and his deference to what she said, even al 
though her language was often severe and upbraiding, 
was painted as carried to an excess which, in a man of 
his haughty temper, seemed almost preternatural. 

The Preceptor of Templestowe was then called on to 
describe the manner in which Bois-Guilbert and the 
Jewess arrived at the Preceptory. The evidence of 
Malvoisin was skilfully guarded. But while he appar¬ 
ently studied to spare the feelings of Bois-Guilbert, he 


IVANHOE. 


399 


threw in, from time to time, such hints as seemed to 
infer that he laboured under some temporary alienation 
of mind, so deeply did he appear to be enamoured of the 
damsel whom he brought along with him. With sighs 
of penitence, the Preceptor avowed his own contrition 
for having admitted Eebecca and her lover within the 
walls of the Preceptory. “But my defence/’ he con¬ 
cluded, “has been made in my confession to our most 
reverend father the Grand Master; he knows my motives 
were not evil, though my conduct may have been irregu¬ 
lar. Joyfully will I submit to any penance he shall 
assign me.” 

“ Thou hast spoken well, brother Albert,” said Beau- 
manoir ; “thy motives were good, since thou didst judge 
it right to arrest thine erring brother in his career of 
precipitate folly. But thy conduct was wrong; as he 
that would stop a runaway steed, and seizing by the 
stirrup instead of the bridle, receiveth injury himself, 
instead of accomplishing his purpose. Thirteen pater¬ 
nosters are assigned by our pious founder for matins, and 
nine for vespers; be those services doubled by thee. 
Thrice a-week are Templars permitted the use of flesh; 
but do thou keep fast for all the seven days. This do 
for six weeks to come, and thy penance is accomplished.” 

With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission, the 
Preceptor of Templestowe bowed to the ground before his 
superior, and resumed his seat. 

“ Were it not well, brethren,” said the Grand Master, 
“that we examine something into the former life and 
conversation of this woman, specially that we may disv 
cover whether she be one likely to use magical charms 
and spells, since the truths which we have heard may 
well incline us to suppose that in this unhappy course 
our erring brother has been acted upon by some infernal 
enticement and delusion ? ” 

Herman of Goodalricke was the fourth Preceptor pres¬ 
ent ; the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and Bois- 
Guilbert himself. Herman was an ancient warrior, whose 
face was marked with scars inflicted by the sabre of the 
Moslemah, and had great rank and consideration among 


400 


IVANHOE. 


his brethren. He arose and bowed to the Grand Mas¬ 
ter, who instantly granted him license of speech. “I 
would crave to know, most reverend father, of our val¬ 
iant brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, what he says to 
these wondrous accusations, and with what eye he him¬ 
self now regards his unhappy intercourse with this Jew¬ 
ish maiden ? ” 

“ Brian de Bois-Guilbert,” said the Grand Master, 
“ thou hearest the question which our Brother of Goodal- 
ricke desirest thou shouldst answer. I command thee 
to reply to him.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand Master 
when thus addressed, and remained silent. 

“ He is possessed by a dumb devil,” said the Grand 
Master. “ Avoid thee, Sathanas ! — Speak, Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, I conjure thee, by this symbol of our Holy 
Order.” 

Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising 
scorn and indignation, the expression of which, he was 
well aware, would have little availed him. “ Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert,” he answered, “ replies not, most reverend 
father, to such wild and vague charges. If his honour 
be impeached, he will defend it with his body, and with 
that sword which has often fought for Christendom.” 

“We forgive thee, Brother Brian,” said the Grand Mas¬ 
ter ; “ though that thou hast boasted thy warlike achieve¬ 
ments before us is a glorifying of thine own deeds, and 
cometh of the Enemy, who tempteth us to exalt our own 
worship. But thou hast our pardon, judging thou speak- 
est less of thine own suggestion than from the impulse 
of him whom, by Heaven’s leave, we will quell and drive 
forth from our assembly.” A glance of disdain flashed 
from the dark fierce eyes of Bois-Guilbert, but he made 
no reply. —•“ And now,” pursued the Grand Master, “ since 
our Brother of Goodalricke’s question has been thus im¬ 
perfectly answered, pursue we our quest, brethren, and 
with our patron’s assistance we will search to the bottom 
this mystery of iniquity. Let those who have aught to 
witness of the life and conversation of this Jewish woman 
stand forth before us.” 


IVANHOE. 


401 


There was a bustle in the lower part of the hall, and 
when the Grand Master inquired the reason, it was re¬ 
plied, there was in the crowd a bedridden man, whom the 
prisoner had restored to the perfect use of his limbs, by a 
miraculous balsam. 

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged for. 
ward to the bar, terrified at the penal consequences which 
he might have incurred by the guilt of having been cured 
of the palsy by a Jewish damsel. Perfectly cured he cer¬ 
tainly was not, for he supported himself forward on crutches 
to give evidence. Most unwilling was his testimony, and 
given with many tears; but he admitted that two years 
since, when residing at York, he was suddenly afflicted 
with a sore disease, while labouring for Isaac the rich 
Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; that he had been unable 
to stir from his bed until the remedies applied by Re¬ 
becca’s directions, and especially a warming and spicy- 
smelling balsam, had in some degree restored him to the 
use of his limbs. Moreover, he said, she had given him 
a pot of that precious ointment, and furnished him with 
a piece of money withal, to return to the house of his 
father, near to Templestowe. “ And may it please your 
gracious Reverence,” said the man, “ I cannot think the 
damsel meant harm by me, though she hath the ill hap 
to be a Jewess; for even when I used her remedy, I said 
the Pater and the Creed, and it never operated a whit less 
kindly.” 

“ Peace, slave,” said the Grand Master, “ and begone! 
It well suits brutes like thee to be tampering and trinket- 
ing with hellish cures, and to be giving your labour to the 
sons of mischief. I tell thee, the fiend can impose diseases 
for the very purpose of removing them, in order to bring 
into credit some diabolical fashion of cure. Hast thou 
that unguent of which thou speakest ? ” 

The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a trembling 
hand, produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew char¬ 
acters on the lid, which was, with most of the audience, 
a sure proof that the devil had stood apothecary. Beau- 
man oir, after crossing himself, took the box into his hand, 
and^ learned in most of the Eastern tongues, read with 
2d 


402 


IVANHOE. 


ease the motto on the lid: “ The Lion of the Tribe oi 
Judah hath conquered.” “ Strange powers of Sathanas,” 
said he, “ which can convert Scripture into blasphemy, 
mingling poison with our necessary food!—Is there no 
leech here who can tell us the ingredients of this mystic 
unguent ? ” 

Two mediciners, as they call themselves, the one a 
monk, the other a barber, appeared, and avouched they 
knew nothing of the materials, excepting that they sa¬ 
voured of myrrh and camphire, which they took to be 
Oriental herbs. But with the true professional hatred to 
a successful practitioner of their art, they insinuated that, 
since the medicine was beyond their own knowledge, it 
must necessarily have been compounded from an unlaw¬ 
ful and magical pharmacopoeia; since they themselves, 
though no conjurors, fully understood every branch of 
their art, so far as it might be exercised with the good 
faith of a Christian. When this medical research was 
ended, the Saxon peasant desired humbly to have back 
the medicine which he had found so salutary; but the 
Grand Master frowned severely at the request. “ What 
is thy name, fellow ? ” said he to the cripple. 

“Higg, the son of Snell,” answered the peasant. 

“ Then, Higg, son of Snell,” said the Grand Master, “ I 
tell thee, it is better to be bedridden than to accept the 
benefit of unbelievers’ medicine that thou mayest arise 
and walk; better to despoil infidels of their treasure by 
the strong hand than to accept of them benevolent gifts, 
or do them service for wages. Go thou, and do as I have 
said.” 

“ Alack,” said the peasant, “ an it shall not displease 
your Reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I 
am but a maimed man; but I will tell my two brethren, 
who serve the rich rabbi Nathan ben Samuel that your 
mastership says it is more lawful to rob him than to ren¬ 
der him faithful service.” 

“ Out with the prating villain! ” said Beaumanoir, 
who was not prepared to refute this practical application 
of his general maxim. 

Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, 


TVANHOE. 


403 


interested in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until 
he should learn her doom, even at the risk of again em 
countering the frown of that severe judge, the terror of 
which withered his very heart within him. 

At this period of the trial, the Grand Master com¬ 
manded Rebecca to unveil herself. Opening her lips for 
the first time, she replied patiently, but with dignity, 
that it was not the wont of the daughters of her people 
to uncover their faces when alone in an assembly of stran¬ 
gers. The sweet tones of her voice, and the softness of 
her reply, impressed on the audience a sentiment of pity 
and sympathy. But Beaumanoir, in whose mind the sup¬ 
pression of each feeling of humanity which could interfere 
with his imagined duty, was a virtue of itself, repeated his 
commands that his victim should be unveiled. The guards 
were about to remove her veil accordingly, when she stood 
up before the Grand Master, and said, “JSTay, but for the 
love of your own daughters — alas,” she said, recollecting 
herself, “ ye have no daughters! — yet for the remem¬ 
brance of your mothers, for the love of your sisters, and 
of female decency, let me not be thus handled in your 
presence; it suits not a maiden to be disrobed by such 
rude grooms. I will obey you,” she added, with an ex¬ 
pression of patient sorrow in her voice, which had almost 
melted the heart of Beaumanoir himself; “ye are elders 
among your people, and at your command I will show the 
features of an ill-fated maiden.” 

She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a coun¬ 
tenance in which bashfulness contended with dignity. 
Her exceeding beauty excited a murmur of surprise, and 
the younger knights told each other with their eyes, in 
silent correspondence, that Brian’s best apology was in 
the power of her real charms, rather than of her imagi¬ 
nary witchcraft. But Higg, the son of Snell, felt most 
deeply the effect produced by the sight of the counte¬ 
nance of his benefactress. “ Let me go forth,” he said 
to the warders at the door of the hall — “ let me go forth! 
To look at her again will kill me, for I have had a share 
in murdering her.” 

“ Peace, poor man,” said Rebecca, when she heard his 


404 


IVANHOE. 


exclamation — “ thou hast done me no harm by speaking 
the truth; thou canst not aid me by thy complaints or 
lamentations. Peace, I pray thee — go home and save 
thyself.” 

Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion of 
the warders, who were apprehensive lest his clamorous 
grief should draw upon them reprehension, and upon 
himself punishment. But he promised to be silent, and 
was permitted to remain. The two men-at-arms, with 
whom Albert Malvoisin had not failed to communicate 
upon the import of their testimony, were now called for¬ 
ward. Though both were hardened and inflexible vil¬ 
lains, the sight of the captive maiden, as well as her 
excelling beauty, at first appeared to stagger them; but 
an expressive glance from the Preceptor of Templestowe 
restored them to their dogged composure; and they de¬ 
livered, with a precision which would have seemed sus¬ 
picious to more impartial judges, circumstances either 
altogether fictitious or trivial, and natural in themselves, 
but rendered pregnant with suspicion by the exaggerated 
manner in which they were told, and the sinister com¬ 
mentary which the witnesses added to the facts. The 
circumstances of their evidence would have been, in mod¬ 
ern days, divided into two classes — those which were 
immaterial, and those which were actually and physi¬ 
cally impossible. But both were, in those ignorant and 
superstitious times, easily credited as proofs of guilt. 
The first class set forth that Rebecca was heard to mut¬ 
ter to herself in an unknown tongue; that the songs she 
sung by fits were of a strangely sweet sound, which made 
the ears of the hearer tingle and his heart throb; that 
she spoke at times to herself, and seemed to look upward 
for a reply; that her garments were of a strange and 
mystic form, unlike those of women of good repute; that 
she had rings impressed with cabalistical devices, and 
that strange characters were broidered on her veil. All 
these circumstances, so natural and so trivial, were 
gravely listened to as proofs, or at least as affording 
strong suspicions, that Rebecca had unlawful corre 
spondence with mystical powers. 


IVANHOE. 


405 


But there was less equivocal testimony, wmch the 
credulity of the assembly, or of the greater part, greedily 
swallowed, however incredible. Qne of the soldiers had 
seen her work a cure upon a wounded man brought with 
them to the castle of Torquilstone. She did, he said, 
make certain signs upon the wound, and repeated certain 
mysterious words, which he blessed God he understood 
not, when the iron head of a square cross-bow bolt dis¬ 
engaged itself from the wound, the bleeding was stanched, 
the wound was closed, and the dying man was, within the 
quarter of an hour, walking upon the ramparts, and as¬ 
sisting the witness in managing a mangonel, or machine 
for hurling stones. This legend was probably founded 
upon the fact that Rebecca had attended on the wounded 
Ivanhoe when in the castle of Torquilstone. But it was 
the more difficult to dispute the accuracy of the witness, 
as, in order to produce real evidence in support of his 
verbal testimony, he drew from his pouch the very bolt- 
head which, according to his story, had been miraculously 
extracted from the wound; and as the iron weighed a full 
ounce, it completely confirmed the tale, however marvel¬ 
lous. 

His comrade had been a witness from a neighbouring 
battlement of the scene betwixt Rebecca and Bois-Guilbert, 
when she was upon the point of precipitating herself from 
the top of the tower. Hot to be behind his companion, 
this fellow stated that he had seen Rebecca perch herself 
upon the parapet of the turret, and there take the form 
of a milk-white swan, under which appearance she flitted 
three times round the castle of Torquilstone; then agaic 
settle on the turret, and once more assume the female 
form. 

Less than one half of this weighty evidence would 
have been sufficient to convict any old woman, poor and 
ugly, even though she had not been a Jewess. United 
with that fatal circumstance, the body of proof was too 
weighty for Rebecca’s youth, though combined with the 
most exquisite beauty. 

The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and now 
in a solemn tone demanded of Rebecca what she had to 


406 


IVANHOE. 


say against the sentence of condemnation which he was 
about to pronounce. 

“To invoke your pity,’ said the lovely Jewess, with a 
voice somewhat tremulous with emotion, “would, I am 
aware, be as useless as I should hold it mean. To state, 
that to relieve the sick and wounded of another religion 
cannot be displeasing to the acknowledged Founder of 
both our faiths, were also unavailing; to plead, that many 
things which these men — whom may Heaven pardon! — 
have spoken against me are impossible, would avail me 
but little, since you believe in their possibility; and still 
less would it advantage me to explain that the peculiarities 
of my dress, language, and manners are those of my people 
— I had well-nigh said of my country, but, alas! we have 
no country. Nor will I even vindicate myself at the ex¬ 
pense of my oppressor, who stands there listening to the 
fictions and surmises which seem to convert the tyrant 
into the victim.— God be judge between him and me! but 
rather would I submit to ten such deaths as your pleasure 
may denounce against me than listen to the suit which 
that man of Belial has urged upon me—friendless, de¬ 
fenceless, and his prisoner. But he is of your own faith, 
and his lightest affirmance would weigh down the most 
solemn protestations of the distressed Jewess. I will not 
therefore return to himself the charge brought against 
me; but to himself—-yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to thy¬ 
self I appeal, whether these accusations are not false ? as 
monstrous and calumnious as they are deadly?” 

There was a pause; all eyes turned to Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert. He was silent. 

“ Speak,” she said, “ if thou art a man; if thou art a 
Christian, speak! I conjure thee, by the habit which thou 
dost wear — by the name thou dost inherit — by the 
knighthood thou dost vaunt—-by the honour of thy 
mother—by the tomb and the bones of thy father — I 
conjure thee to say, are these things true ? ” 

“ Answer her, Brother,” said the Grand Master, “ if the 
Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle will give thee power.” 

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending 
passions, which almost convulsed his features, and it was 



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IVANHOE. 


40 ? 


with a constrained voice that at last he replied, looking 
to Rebecca: “ The scroll! — the scroll! ” 

“ Ay,” said Beaumanoir, “ this is indeed testimony! 
The victim of her witcheries can only name the fatal 
scroll, the spell inscribed on which is, doubtless, the 
cause of his silence.” 

But Rebecca put another interpretation on the words 
extorted as it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing her 
eye upon the slip of parchment which she continued to 
hold in her hand, she read written thereupon in the 
Arabian character, “Demand a champion!” The mur¬ 
muring commentary which ran through the assembly at 
the strange reply of Bois-Guilbert gave Rebecca leisure 
to examine and instantly to destroy the scroll unobserved. 
When the whisper had ceased, the Grand Master spoke. 

“Rebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evi¬ 
dence of this unhappy knight, for whom, as we well per¬ 
ceive, the Enemy is yet too powerful. Hast thou aught 
else to say ? ” 

“ There is yet one chance of life left to me,” said Re¬ 
becca, “even by your own fierce laws. Life has been 
miserable — miserable, at least, of late — but I will not 
cast away the gift of God while He affords me the means 
of defending it. I deny this charge-v-1 maintain my 
innocence, and I declare the falsehood of this accusation 
— I challenge the privilege of trial by combat, and will 
appear by my champion.” 

“ And who, Rebecca,” replied the Grand Master, “ will 
lay lance in rest for a sorceress ? who will be the cham¬ 
pion of a Jewess ? ” 

“ God will raise me up a champion,” said Rebecca. “ It 
cannot be that in merry England—the hospitable, the 
generous, the free, where so many are ready to peril 
their lives for honour, there will not be found one to 
fight for justice. But it is enough that I challenge the 
trial by combat — there lies my gage.” 

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and 
flung it down before the Grand Master with an air of 
mingled simplicity and dignity, which excited universal 
surprise and admiration. 


108 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

There I throw my gage, 

To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of martial daring. 

Fdchard II. 

Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the 
mien and appearance of Rebecca. He was not originally 
a cruel or even a severe man; but with passions by na¬ 
ture cold, and with a high, though mistaken, sense of 
duty, his heart had been gradually hardened by the as¬ 
cetic life which he pursued, the supreme power which 
he enjoyed, and the supposed necessity of subduing infi¬ 
delity and eradicating heresy which he conceived pecul¬ 
iarly incumbent on him. His features relaxed in their 
usual severity as he gazed upon the beautiful creature 
before him, alone, unfriended, and defending herself with 
so much spirit and courage. He crossed himself twice, 
as doubting whence arose the unwonted softening of a 
heart, which on such occasions used to resemble in hard¬ 
ness the steel of his sword. At length he spoke. 

“ Damsel/’ he said, “ if the pity' I feel for thee arise 
from any practice thine evil arts have made on me, great 
is thy guilt. But I rather judge it the kinder feelings 
of nature, which grieves that so goodly a form should 
be a vessel of perdition. Repent, my daughter — confess 
thy witchcrafts — turn thee from thy evil faith — em¬ 
brace this holy emblem, and all shall yet be well with 
thee here and hereafter. In some sisterhood of the strict¬ 
est order shalt thou have time for prayer and fitting pen¬ 
ance, and that repentance not to be repented of. This 
do and live — what has the law of Moses done for thee, 
that thou shouldst die for it ? ” 

“ It was the law of my fathers,” said Rebecca; “ it was 
delivered in thunders and in storms upon the mountain 
of Sinai, in cloud and in fire. This, if ye are Christians, 
ye believe. It is, you say, recalled; but so my teachers 
have not taught me.” 


IVANHOE. 


409 


'‘Let our chaplain,” said Beaumanoir, “stand forth 

and tell this obstinate infidel-” 

“Forgive the interruption,” said Rebecca, meekly; “I 
am a maiden, unskilled to dispute for my religion; but 
I can die for it, if it be God’s will. —Let me pray your 
answer to my demand of a champion.” 

“ Give me her glove,” said Beaumanoir. “ This is in¬ 
deed,” he continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture 
and slender fingers, “ a slight and frail gage for a purpose 
so deadly! — Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin and light 
glove of thine is to one of our heavy steel gauntlets, so 
is thy cause to that of the Temple, for it is our Order 
which thou hast defied.” 

“ Cast my innocence into the scale,” answered Rebecca, 
“and the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of 
iron.” 

“ Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy 
guilt, and in that bold challenge which thou hast made ? ” 
“ I do persist, noble sir,” answered Rebecca. 

“ So be it then, in the name of Heaven,” said the Grand 
Master; “ and may God show the right! ” 

“Amen,” replied the Preceptors around him, and the 
word was deeply echoed by the whole assembly. 

“ Brethren,” said Beaumanoir, “ you are aware that we 
might well have refused to this woman the benefit of the 
trial by combat — but, though a Jewess and an unbe¬ 
liever, she is also a stranger and defenceless, and God 
forbid that she should ask the benefit of our mild laws, 
and that it should be refused to her. Moreover, we are 
knights and soldiers as well-as men of religion, and 
shame it were to us, upon any pretence, to refuse prof¬ 
fered combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case: Rebecca, 
the daughter of Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and 
suspicious circumstances, defamed of sorcery practised 
on the parson of a noble knight of our Holy Order, and 
hath chaftog^d the combat in proof of her innocence. 
To whom, reverend brethren, is it your opinion that we 
should deliver the gage of battle, naming him, at the 
same time, to be our champion on the field ? ” 

“ To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns,” 



410 


IVANHOB. 


said the Preceptor of Goodalricke, “ and who, moreover* 
best knows how the truth stands in this matter.” 

“ But if,” said the Grand Master, “ our brother Brian 
be under the influence of a charm or a spell — we speak 
but for the sake of precaution, for to the arm of none 
of our Holy Order would we more willingly confide this 
or a more weighty cause.” 

“ Reverend father,” answered the Preceptor of Goodal¬ 
ricke, “ no spell can affect the champion who comes for¬ 
ward to fight for the judgment of God.” 

“ Thou sayest right, brother,” said the Grand Master. 
“ Albert Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert.—It is our charge to thee, brother,” he 
continued, addressing himself to Bois-Guilbert, “ that 
thou do thy battle manfully, nothing doubting that the 
good cause shall triumph. — And do thou, Rebecca, at¬ 
tend, that we assign thee the third day from the present 
to find a champion.” 

“That is but brief space,” answered Rebecca, “for a 
stranger who is also of another faith, to find one who will 
do battle, wagering life and honour for her cause, against 
a knight who is called an approved soldier.” 

“We may not extend it,” answered the Grand Master; 
“the field must be foughten in our presence, and divers 
weighty causes call us on the fourth day from hence.” 

“ God’s will be done! ” said Rebecca; “ I put my 
trust in Him, to whom an instant is as effectual to save 
as a whole age.” 

“Thou hast spoken well, damsel,” said the Grand 
Master; “ but well know we who can array himself like 
an angel of light. It remains but to name a fitting place 
of combat, and, if it so hap, also of execution. — Where 
is the Preceptor of this house ? ” 

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca’s glove in his 
hand, was speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but 
in a low voice. 

“ How! ” said the Grand Master, “ will he not receive 
the gage ? ” 

“He will — he doth, most reverend father,” said 
Malvoisin, slipping the glove under his own mantle. 


IVANIIOE. 


411 


* And for the place of combat, I hold the fittest to be 
the lists of St. George belonging to this Preceptory, and 
used by us for military exercise.” 

“It is well,” said the Grand Master. “Rebecca, in 
those lists shalt thou produce thy champion; and if thou 
failest to do so, or if thy champion shall be discomfited 
by the judgment of God, thou shalt then die the death 
of a sorceress, according to doom. — Let this our judg¬ 
ment be recorded, and the record read aloud that no one 
may pretend ignorance.” 

One of the chaplains who acted as clerks to the chapter 
immediately engrossed the order in a huge volume, which 
contained the proceedings of the Templar Knights when 
solemnly assembled on such occasions; and when he had 
finished writing, the other read aloud the sentence of 
the Grand Master, which, when translated from the 
Norman-French in which it was couched, was expressed 
as follows: 

“ Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York', being attainted 
of sorcery, seduction, and other damnable practices, practised on 
a knight of the most Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, doth 
deny the same, and saith that the testimony delivered against her 
this day is false, wicked, and disloyal; and that by lawful essoinc 
of her body, as being unable to combat in her own behalf, she 
doth offer, by a champion instead thereof, to avouch her case, he 
performing his loyal' devoir in all knightly sort, with such arms 
as to gage of battle do fully appertain, and that at her peril and 
cost. And therewith she proffered her gage. And the gage having 
been delivered to the noble Lord and Knight, Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, of the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, he was ap¬ 
pointed to do this battle in behalf of his Order and himself, as 
injured and impaired by the practices of the appellant. Where¬ 
fore the most reverend Father and puissant Lord, Lucas Marquis 
of Beaumanoir, did allow of the said challenge, and of the said 
essoine of the appellant’s body, and assigned the third day for the 
said combat, the place being the inclosure called the lists of St. 
George, near to the Preceptory of Templestowe. And the Grand 
Master appointed the appellant to appear there by her champion, 
on pain of doom, as a person convicted of sorcery or seduction ; 
and also the defendant so to appear, under the penalty of being 
held and adjudged recreant in case of default; and the noble 
Lord and most reverend Father aforesaid appointed the battle to 
be done in his presence, and according to all that is commendable 
and profitable in such a case. And may God aid the just cause f ” 


412 


IVANHOB. 


“Amen!” said the Grand Master; and the word was 
echoed by all around. Rebecca spoke not, but she 
looked up to Heaven, and, folding her hands, remained 
for a minute without change of attitude. She then 
modestly reminded the Grand Master that she ought to 
be permitted some opportunity of free communication 
with her friends, for the purpose of making her condi¬ 
tion known to them, and procuring, if possible, some 
champion to fight in her behalf. 

“It is just and lawful,” said the Grand Master * 
“ choose what messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall, 
have free communication with thee in thy prison- 
chamber.” 

“ Is there,” said Rebecca, “ any one here who, either 
for love of a good cause or for ample hire, will do the 
errand of a distressed being ? ” 

All were silent; for none thought it safe, in the 
presence of the Grand Master, to avow any interest in 
the calumniated prisoner, lest he should be suspected 
of leaning toward Judaism. Not even the prospect of 
reward, far less any feelings of compassion alone, could 
surmount this apprehension. 

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anx¬ 
iety, and then exclaimed, “ Is it really thus ? — and in 
English land am I to be deprived of the poor chance of 
safety which remains to me, for want of an act of charity 
which would not be refused to the worst criminal ? ” 
Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, “ I am but a 
maimed man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing 
to her charitable assistance. I will do thine errand,” he 
added, addressing Rebecca, “as well as a crippled object 
can, and happy were my limbs fleet enough to repair the 
mischief done by my tongue. Alas ! when I boasted of thy 
charity, I little thought I was leading thee into danger! ” 
“ God,” said Rebecca, “is the disposer of all. He can 
turn back the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest in¬ 
strument. To execute His message the snail is as sure a 
messenger as the falcon. Seek out Isaac of York — here 
is that will pay for horse and man — let him have this 
Bcroll. I know not if it be of Heaven the spirit which irn 


IVANHOE. 


413 


spires me, but most truly do I judge that I am not to die 
this death, and that a champion will be raised up for me. 
Farewell I Life and death are in thy haste.” 

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few 
lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dis¬ 
suaded him from touching a document so suspicious; but 
Higg was resolute in the service of his benefactress. 
She had saved his body, he said, and he was confident she 
did not mean to peril his soul. 

“ I will get me,” he said, “ my neighbour Buthan’s good 
capul, and I will be at York within as brief space as man 
and beast may.” 

But, as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for 
within a quarter of a mile from the gate of the Preceptory 
he met with two riders whom, by their dress and their 
huge yellow caps, he knew to be Jews; and, on approach¬ 
ing more nearly, discovered that one of them was his an¬ 
cient employer, Isaac of York. The other was the Rabbi 
ben Samuel; and both had approached as near to the Pre¬ 
ceptory as they dared, on hearing that the Grand Master 
had summoned a chapter for the trial of a sorceress. 

“Brother ben Samuel,” said Isaac, “my soul is dis¬ 
quieted, and I wot not why. This charge of necromancy 
is right ofteu used for cloaking evil practices on our 
people.” 

“Be of good comfort, brother,” said the physician; 
“ thou canst deal with the Nazarenes as one possessing the 
mammon of unrighteousness, and canst therefore purchase 
immunity at their hands — it rules the savage, minds of 
those ungodly men, even as the signet of the mighty Sol¬ 
omon was said to command the evil genii. — But what poor 
wretch comes hither upon his crutches, desiring, as I think, 
some speech of me ? — Friend,” continued the physician, 
addressing Higg, the son of Snell, “ I refuse thee not the 
aid of mine art, but I relieve not with one asper those who 
beg for alms upon the highway. Out upon thee! — Hast 
thou the palsy in thy legs ? then let thy hands work for 
thy livelihood; for, albeit thou be’st unfit for a speedy 
post,'or for a careful shepherd, or for the warfare, or for 
the service of a hasty master, yet there be occupations- 


414 


IVAN HOE. 


How now, brother?” said he, interrupting his harangue 
to look towards Isaac, who had but glanced at the scroll 
which Higg offered, when, uttering a deep groan, he fell 
from his mule like a dying man, and lay for a minute in¬ 
sensible. 

The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily 
applied the remedies which his art suggested for the re¬ 
covery of his companion. He had even taken from his 
pocket a cupping apparatus, and was about to proceed to 
phlebotomy, when the object of his anxious solicitude 
suddenly revived; but it was to dash his cap from his 
head, and to throw dust on his grey hairs. The physician 
was at first inclined to ascribe this sudden and violent 
emotion to the effects of insanity; and, adhering to his 
original purpose, began once again to handle his imple¬ 
ments. But Isaac soon convinced him of his error. “ Child 
of my sorrow,” he said, “ well shouldst thou be called Be- 
noni, instead of Rebecca! Why should thy death bring 
down my grey hairs to the grave, till, in the bitterness of 
my heart, I curse God and die! ” 

“Brother,” said the Rabbi, iff great surprise, “art 
thou a father in Israel, and dost thou utter words like 
unto these? — I trust that the child of thy house yet 
liveth ? ” 

“ She liveth,” answered Isaac; “ but it is as Daniel, 
who was called Belteshazzar, even when within the den 
of the lions. She is captiye unto those men of Belial, 
and they will wreak their cruelty upon her, sparing 
neither for her youth nor her comely favour. Oh! she 
was as a crown of green palms to my grey locks; and 
she must wither in a night, like the gourd of Jonah! — 
Child of my love! — child of my old age! — oh, Rebecca, 
daughter of Rachel! the darkness of the shadow of 
death hath encompassed thee.” 

“ Yet read the scroll,” said the Rabbi; “ peradventure 
it may be that we may yet find out a way of deliverance.” 

“ Do thou read, brother,” answered Isaac, “ for mine 
eyes are as a fountain of water.” 

The physician read, but in their native language, the 
following words: 


IVANHOE. 


415 


“ To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles call Isaac 
of York, peace and the blessing of the promise be multiplied unto 
thee ! — My father, I am as one doomed to die for that which my 
soul knoweth not, even for the crime of witchcraft. — My father, 
if a strong man can be found to do battle for my cause with sword 
and spear, according to the custom- of the Nazarenes, and that 
within the lists of Templestowe, on the third day from this time, 
peradventure our father’s God will give him strength to defend the 
innocent, and her who hath none to help her. But if this may not 
be, let the virgins of our people mourn for me as for one cast off, 
and for the hart that is stricken by the hunter, and for the flower 
which is cut down by the scythe of the mower. Wherefore look 
now what thou doest, and whether there be any rescue. One 
Nazarene warrior might indeed bear arms in my behalf, even Wil¬ 
fred, son of Cedric, whom the Gentiles call Ivanhoe. But he may 
not yet endure the weight of his armour. Nevertheless, send the 
tidings unto him, my father ; for he hath favour among the strong 
men of his people, and as he was our companion in the house of 
bondage, he may find some one to do battle for my sake. And 
say unto him — even unto him — even unto Wilfred, the son of 
Cedric, that if Rebecca live, or if Rebecca die, she liveth or dieth 
wholly free of the guilt she is charged withal. And if it be the 
will of God that thou shalt be deprived of thy daughter, do not 
thou tarry, old man, in this land of bloodshed and cruelty; but be¬ 
take thyself to Cordova, where thy brother liveth in safety, under 
the shadow of the throne, even of the throne of Boabdil the Sara¬ 
cen ; for less cruel are the cruelties of the Moors unto the race of 
Jacob, than the cruelties of the Nazarenes of England.” 

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben 
Samuel read the letter, and then again resumed the ges¬ 
tures and exclamations of Oriental sorrow, tearing his 
garments, besprinkling his head with dust, and ejaculat¬ 
ing, “ My daughter! my daughter! flesh of my flesh, 
and bone of my bone! ” 

"Yet,”' said the Rabbi, "take courage, for this grief 
availeth nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out this 
Wilfred, the son of Cedric. It may be he will help thee 
with counsel or with strength; for the youth hath favour 
in the eyes of Richard, called of the Nazarenes Cceur-de- 
Lion, and the tidings that he hath returned are constant 
in the land. It may be that he may obtain his letter, 
and his signet, commanding these men of blood, who take 
their name from the Temple to the dishonour thereof, 
that they proceed not in their purposed wickedness.” 


416 


IVANHOE. 


“I will seek him out,” said Isaac, “for he is a good 
youth, and hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But 
he cannot bear his armour, and what other Christian 
shall do battle for the oppressed of Zion ? ” 

“Nay, but,” said the Rabbi, “thou speakest as one 
that knoweth not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou 
buy their valour, even as with gold thou buyest thine 
own safety. Be of good courage, and do thou set forward 
to find out this Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I will also up and 
be doing, for great sin it were to leave thee in thy calam 
ity. I will hie me to the city of York, where many 
warriors and strong men are assembled, and doubt not I 
will find among them some one who will do battle for 
thy daughter; for gold is their god, and for riches will 
they pawn their lives as well as their lands. — Thou wilt 
fulfil, my brother, such promise as I may make unto 
them in thy name ? ” 

“Assuredly, brother,” said Isaac, “and Heaven be 
praised that raised me up a comforter in ray misery! 
Howbeit, grant them not their full demand at once, for 
fiiou shalt find it the quality of this accursed people that 
they will ask pounds, and peradventure accept of ounces. 
—Nevertheless, be it as thou wiliest, for I am distracted 
in this thing, and what would my gold avail me if the 
child of my love should perish ! ” 

“ Farewell,” said the physician, “ and may it be to thee 
as thy heart desireth.” 

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their 
several roads. The crippled peasant remained for some 
time looking after them. 

“ These dog Jews! ” said he; “ to take no more notice 
of a free guild-brother than if I were a bond slave or a 
Turk, or a circumcised Hebrew like themselves! They 
might have flung me a mancus or two, however. I was 
not obliged to bring their unhallowed scrawls, and run 
the risk of being bewitched, as more folks than one told 
me. And what care I for the bit of gold that the wench 
gave me, if I am to come to harm from the priest next 
Easter at confession, and be obliged to give him twice as 
much to make it up with him, and be called the Jew’s 


IVAN HOE. 


417 


flying post all my life, as it may hap, into the bargain ? 
I think I was bewitched in earnest when I was beside 
that girl! Bnt it was always so with Jew or Gentile, 
whosoever came near her — none conld stay when she 
had an errand to go; and still, whenever I think of her, 
I would give shop and tools to save her life.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art, 

My bosom is proud as thine own. 

Seward. 

It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it 
conld be called such, had taken place, that a low knock 
was heard at the door of Rebecca’s prison-chamber. It 
disturbed not the inmate, who was then engaged in the 
evening prayer recommended by her religion, and which 
concluded with a hymn we have ventured thus to trans¬ 
late into English: 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out of the land of bondage came, 

Her fathers’ God before her moved, 

An awful guide, in smoke and flame. 

By day, along the astonish’d lands 
The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 

By night, Arabia’s crimson’d sands 
Return’d the fiery column’s glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer’d keen, 

And Zion’s daughters pour’d their lays, 

With priest’s and warrior’s voice between. 

No portents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 

Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen, 

When brightly shines the prosperous day ? 

Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 
To temper the deceitful ray. 

2 E 


1VANH0E. 


£18 

And oh, when stoops on Judah’s path 
In shade and storm the frequent night, 

Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light 1 

Our harps we left by Babel’s streams, 

The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn; 

No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. 

But Thou hast said, The blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize ; 

A contrite heart, an humble thought, 

Are Mine accepted sacrifice. 

When the sounds of Bebecca’s devotional hymn had 
died away in silence, the low knock at the door was 
again renewed. “ Enter,” she said, “ if thou art a friend; 
and if a foe, I have not the means of refusing thy 
entrance.” 

“ I am,” said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the 
apartment, “ friend or foe, Bebecca, as the event of this 
interview shall make me.” 

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious 
passion she considered as the root of her misfortunes, 
Bebecca drew backward with a cautious and alarmed, yet 
not a timorous, demeanour into the farthest corner of the 
apartment, as if determined to retreat as far as she could, 
but to stand her ground when retreat became no longer 
possible. She drew herself into an attitude not of de¬ 
fiance, but of resolution, as one that would avoid provok¬ 
ing assault, yet was resolute to repel it, being offered, to 
the utmost of her power. 

“ You have no reason to fear me, Bebecca,” said the 
Templar; “ or, if I must so qualify my speech, you have 
at least now no reason to fear me.” 

“1 fear you not, Sir Knight,” replied Bebecca, although 
her short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of 
her accents; “ my trust is strong, and I fear thee not.” 

a You have no cause,” answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely, 
“ my former frantic attempts you have not now to dread. 
Within your call are guards over whom I have no au¬ 
thority. They are designed to conduct you to death, 


IVANHOE. 


419 


Rebecca, yet would not suffer you to be insulted by any 
one, even by me, were my frenzy — for frenzy it is — to 
urge me so far.” 

“May Heaven be praised!” said the Jewess; “death 
is the least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.” 

“ Ay,” replied the Templar, “ the idea of death is easily 
received by the courageous mind, when the road to it is 
sudden and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke with 
a sword, were to me little; to you, a spring from a dizzy 
battlement, a stroke with a sharp poniard, has no terrors, 
compared with what either thinks disgrace. Mark me — 
I say this — perhaps mine own sentiments of honour are 
not less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine are; but we know 
alike how to die for them.” 

“Unhappy man,” said the Jewess; “and art thou 
condemned to expose thy life for principles of which 
thy sober judgment does not acknowledge the solidity ? 
Surely this is a parting with your treasure for that 
which is not bread. — But deem not so of me. Thy 
resolution may fluctuate on the wild and changeful bil¬ 
lows of human opinion; but mine is anchored on the 
Rock of Ages.” 

“ Silence, maiden,” answered the Templar ; “ such dis¬ 
course now avails but little. Thou art condemned to die 
not a sudden and easy death, such as misery chooses and 
despair welcomes, but a slow, wretched, protracted course 
of torture, suited to what the diabolical bigotry of these 
men calls thy crime.” 

“ And to whom — if such my fate —to whom do I owe 
this ? ” said Rebecca; “ surely only to him who, for a 
most selfish and brutal cause, dragged me hither, and 
who now, for some unknown purpose of his own, strives 
to exaggerate the wretched fate to which he exposed me.” 

“Think not,” said the Templar, “that I have so ex¬ 
posed thee; I would have bucklered thee against such 
danger with my own bosom, a& freely as ever I exposed 
it to the shafts which had otherwise reached thy life.” 

« Had thy purpose been the honourable protection of 
the innocent,” said Rebecca, “ I had thanked thee for thy 
«are; as it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so often that 


420 


IVANHOE . 


I tell tliee life is worth nothing to me, preserved at the 
price which thou wouldst exact for it.” 

“ Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca,” said the 
Templar; “ I have my own cause of grief, and brook not 
that thy reproaches should add to it.” 

“What is thy purpose, then, Sir Knight?” said the 
Jewess; “speak it briefly. — If thou hast aught to do 
save to witness the misery thou hast caused, let me 
know it; and then, if so it please you, leave me to 
myself — the step between time and eternity is short but 
terrible, and I have few moments to prepare for it.” 

“ I perceive, Rebecca,” said Bois-G-uilbert, “ that thou 
dost continue to burden me with the charge of distresses 
which most fain would I have prevented.” 

“ Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ I would avoid reproaches; 
but what is more certain than that I owe my death to 
thine unbridled passion ? ” 

“You err—you err,” said the Templar, hastily, “if 
you impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to 
my purpose or agency. — Could I guess the unexpected 
arrival of yon dotard, whom some flashes of frantic 
valour, and the praises yielded by fools to the stupid 
self-torments of an ascetic, have raised for the present 
above his own merits, above common sense, above me, 
and above the hundreds of our Order who think and feel 
as men free from such silly and fantastic prejudices as 
are the grounds of his opinions and actions ? ” 

“Yet,” said Rebecca, “you sate a judge upon me; 
innocent — most innocent — as you knew me to be, you 
concurred in my condemnation ; and if I aright under¬ 
stood, are yourself to appear in arms to assert my guilt, 
and assure iny punishment.” 

“Thy patience, maiden,” replied the Templar. “No 
race knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to 
the time, and so to trim their bark as to make advantage 
even of an adverse wind.’ 4 

“ Lamented be the hour,” said Rebecca, “ that has 
taught such art to the House of Israel! but adversity 
bends the heart as fire bends the stubborn steel, and 
those who are no longer their own governors, and the 


IVANHOE. 


421 


denizens of their own free independent state, must crouch 
before strangers. It is our curse, Sir Knight, deserved, 
doubtless, by our own misdeeds and those of our fathers; 
but you — you who boast your freedom as your birth¬ 
right, how much deeper is your disgrace when you stoop 
to soothe the prejudices of others, and that against your 
own conviction ? ” 

“ Your words are bitter, Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
pacing the apartment with impatience, “ but I came not 
hither to bandy reproaches with you. — Know that Bois- 
Guilbert yields not to created man, although circum¬ 
stances may for a time induce him to alter his plan. His 
will is the mountain stream, which may indeed be turned 
for a little space aside by the rock, but fails not to find 
its course to the ocean. That scroll which warned thee 
to demand a champion, from whom couldst thou think it 
came, if not from Bois-Guilbert ? In whom else couldst 
thou have excited such interest ?” 

“A brief respite from instant death,” said Rebecca, 
“which will little avail me. Was this all thou couldst 
do for one on whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and 
whom thou hast brought near even to the verge of the 
tomb?” 

“No, maiden,” said Bois-Guilbert, “this was not all 
that I purposed. Had it not been for the accursed inter¬ 
ference of yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodal- 
ricke, who, being a Templar, affects to think and judge 
according to the ordinary rules of humanity, the office of 
the champion defender had devolved, not on a Preceptor, 
but on a Companion of the Order. Then I myself — such 
was my purpose — had, on the sounding of the trumpet, 
appeared in the lists as thy champion, disguised indeed 
in the fashion of a roving knight, who seeks adventures 
to prove his shield and spear; and then, let Beaumanoir 
have chosen not one but two or three of the brethren 
here assembled, I had not doubted to cast them out of the 
saddle with my single lance. Thus, Rebecca, should thine 
innocence have been avouched, and to thine own gratitude 
would I have trusted for the reward of my victory.” 

“ This, Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ is but idle boast- 


422 


IVANHOE. 


ing — a brag of what yon would have done had you not 
found it convenient to do otherwise. You received my 
glove, and my champion, if a creature so desolate can 
find one, must encounter your lance in the lists; yet you 
would assume the air of my friend and protector! ” 

“ Thy friend and protector,” said the Templar, gravely, 
“I will yet be — but mark at what risk, or rather at 
what certainty, of dishonour; and then blame me not if 
I make my stipulations before I offer up all that I have 
hitherto held dear, to save the life of a Jewish maiden.” 

“ Speak,” said Rebecca; “ I understand thee not.” 

“ Well, then,” said Bois-G-uilbert, “ I will speak as freely 
as ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when 
placed in the tricky confessional. — Rebecca, if I appear 
not in these lists I lose fame and rank — lose that which 
is the breath of my nostrils, the esteem, I mean, in which 
I am held by my brethren, and the hopes I have of suc¬ 
ceeding to that mighty authority which is now wielded 
by the bigoted dotard Lucas de Beaumanoir, but of which 
I should make a far different use. Such is my certain 
doom, except I appear in arms against thy cause. Ac¬ 
cursed be he of Groodalricke, who baited this trap for 
me ! and doubly accursed Albert de Malvoisin, who with¬ 
held me from the resolution I had formed of hurling 
back the glove at the face of the superstitious and super¬ 
annuated fool who listened to a charge so absurd, and 
against a creature so high in mind and so lovely in form 
as thou art! ” 

“ And what now avails rant or flattery ? ” answered 
Rebecca. “ Thou hast made thy choice between causing 
to be shed the blood of an innocent woman, or of endan¬ 
gering thine own earthly state and earthly hopes. — 
What avails it to reckon together ? thy choice is made.” 

“ No, Rebecca,” said the knight, in a softer tone, and 
drawing nearer towards her, “ my choice is not made ; 
nay, mark, it is thine to make the election. If I appear 
in the lists, I must maintain my name in arms; and 
if I do so, championed or unchampioned, thou diest by the 
stake and faggot, for there lives not the knight who hath 
coped with me in arms on equal issue or on terms of van* 


IVANHOE. 


423 


tage, save Richard Coeur-de-Lion and his minion of Ivan¬ 
hoe. Ivanhoe, as thon well knowest, is unable to bear 
his corselet, and Richard is in a foreign prison. If I 
appear, then thou diest, even although thy charms should 
instigate some hot-headed youth to enter the lists in thy 
defence.” 

“ And what avails repeating this so often ? ” said Re¬ 
becca. 

“ Much,” replied the Templar; “ for thou must learn 
to look at thy fate on every side.” 

“Well, then, turn the tapestry,” said the Jewess, 
“ and let me see the other side.” 

“ If I appear,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ in the fatal lists, 
thou diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as 
they say is destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I 
appear not, then am I a degraded and dishonoured knight, 
accused of witchcraft and of communion with infidels — 
the illustrious name which has grown yet more so under 
my wearing, becomes a hissing and a reproach. I lose 
fame—I lose honour — I lose the prospect of such great¬ 
ness as scarce emperors attain to; I sacrifice mighty am¬ 
bition—I destroy schemes built as high as the mountains 
with which heathen say their heaven was once nearly 
scaled; and yet, Rebecca,” he added, throwing himself 
at her feet, “ this greatness will I sacrifice — this fame 
will I renounce — this power will I forego, even now 
when it is half withip my grasp, if thou wilt say, ‘ Bois- 
Guilbert, I receive thee for my lover/ ” 

“ Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight,” answered 
Rebecca, “ but hasten to the Regent, the Queen Mother, 
and to Prince John; they cannot, in honour to the Eng¬ 
lish crown, allow of the proceedings of your Grand Mas¬ 
ter. So shall you give me protection without sacrifice on 
your part, or the pretext of requiring any requital from 
me.” 

“ With these I deal not,” he continued, holding the 
train of her robe — “ it is thee only I address ; and what 
can counterbalance thy choice? Bethink thee, were I a 
fiend, yet death, is a worse, and it is death who is my 
rival.” 


424 


IVAN HOE. 


“1 weigh not these evils,” said Rebecca, afraid to pro¬ 
voke the wild knight, yet equally determined neither to 
endure his passion nor even feign to endure it. “ Be a 
man, be a Christian ! If indeed thy faith recommends 
that mercy which rather your tongues than your actions 
pretend, save me from this dreadful death, without seek¬ 
ing a requital which would change thy magnanimity into 
base barter.” 

“ No, damsel!” said the proud Templar, springing up, 
“thou shalt not thus impose on me — if I renounce pres¬ 
ent fame and future ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, 
and we will escape in company. Listen to me, Rebecca,” 
he said, again softening his tone ; “England — Europe — 
is not the world. There are spheres in which we may 
act, ample enough even for my ambition. We will go to 
Palestine, where Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat is my 
friend — a friend free as myself from the doting scruples 
which fetter our free-born reason; rather with Saladin 
will we league ourselves than endure the scorn of the 
bigots whom we contemn. — I will form new paths to 
greatness,” he continued, again traversing the room with 
hasty strides; “Europe shall hear the loud step of him 
she has driven from her sons ! — Not the millions whom 
her crusaders send to slaughter can do so much to defend 
Palestine; not the sabres of the thousands and ten thou¬ 
sands of Saracens can hew their way so deep into that 
land for which nations are striving, as the strength and 
policy of me and those brethren who. in despite of yonder 
old bigot, will adhere to me in good and evil. Thou shalt 
be a queen, Rebecca — on Mount Carmel shall we pitch 
the throne which my valour will gain for you, and I will 
exchange my long-desired batoon for a sceptre ! ” 

“ A dream,” said Rebecca — “ an empty vision of the 
night, which, were it a waking reality, affects me not. 
Enough, that the power which thou mightest acquire I 
will never share; nor hold I so light of country or re¬ 
ligious faith as to esteem him who is willing to barter 
these ties, and cast away the bonds of the Order of which 
he is a sworn member, in order to gratify an unruly pas¬ 
sion for the daughter of another people. Put not a price 



IVAN HOE. 


425 


on my deliverance, Sir Knight — sell not a deed of gen¬ 
erosity — protect the oppressed for the sake of charity, 
and not for a selfish advantage. — Go to the throne of 
England; Richard will listen to my appeal from these 
cruel men.” 

“ Never, Rebecca! ” said the Templar, fiercely. “ If I 
renounce my Order, for thee alone will I renounce it. 
Ambition shall remain mine, if thou refuse my love; I 
will not be fooled on all hands. — Stoop my crest to Rich¬ 
ard ?— ask a boon of that heart of pride ? Never, Re¬ 
becca, will I place the Order of the Temple at his feet in 
my person. I may forsake the Order; I never will de¬ 
grade or betray it.” 

“Now God be gracious to me,” said Rebecca, “for the 
succour of man is wellnigh hopeless! ” 

“ It is indeed,” said the Templar; “ for, proud as thou 
art, thou hast in me found thy match. If I enter the 
lists with my spear in rest, think not any human consid¬ 
eration shall prevent my putting forth my strength; and 
think then upon thine own fate — to die the dreadful 
death of the worst of criminals—to be consumed upon a 
blazing pile — dispersed to the elements of which our 
strange forms are so mystically composed — not a relic 
left of that graceful frame, from which we could say this 
lived and moved! Rebecca, it is not in woman to sustain 
this prospect — thou wilt yield to my suit.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered the Jewess, “thou knowest 
not the heart of woman, or hast only conversed with those 
who are lost to her best feelings. I tell thee, proud Tem¬ 
plar, that not in thy fiercest battles hast thou displayed 
more of thy vaunted courage than has been shown by 
woman when called upon to suffer by affection or duty. 
I am myself a woman, tenderly nurtured, naturally fear¬ 
ful of danger, and impatient of pain — yet, when we enter 
those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to suffer, I feel the 
strong assurance within me that my courage shall mount 
higher than thine. Farewell — I waste no more words 
on thee ; the time that remains on earth to the daughtei 
of Jacob must be otherwise spent—she must seek the 
Comforter, who may hide His face from His people, but 


426 


IVANHOE. 


who ever opens His ear to the cry of those who seek Him 
in sincerity and in truth.” 

“ We part then thus ? ” said the Templar, after a short 
pause; “ would to Heaven we had never met, or that thou 
hadst been noble in birth and Christian in faith ! Nay, 
by Heaven! when I gaze on thee, and think when and 
how we are next to meet, I could even wish myself one 
of thine own degraded nation; my hand conversant with 
ingots and shekels, instead of spear and shield; my head 
bent down before each petty noble, and my look only ter¬ 
rible to the shivering and bankrupt debtor — this could 
I wish, Rebecca, to be near to thee in life, and to escape 
the fearful share I must have in thy death.” 

“Thou hast spoken the Jew,” said Rebecca, “as the 
persecution of such as thou art, hath made him. Heaven 
in ire has driven him from his country, but industry has 
opened to him the only road to power and to influence 
which oppression has left unbarred. Read the ancient 
history of the people of God, and tell me if those by whom 
Jehovah wrought such marvels among the nations, were 
then a people of misers and usurers! And know, proud 
knight, we number names amongst us to which your 
boasted northern nobility is as the gourd compared with 
the cedar — names that ascend far back to those high 
times when the Divine Presence shook the mercy-seat* 
between the cherubim, and which derive their splendour 
from no earthly prince, but from the awful Voice which 
bade their fathers be nearest of the congregation to the 
Vision.—Such were the princes of the House of Jacob.” 

Rebecca’s colour rose as she boasted the ancient glories 
of her race, but faded as she added, with a sigh : “ Such 
were the princes of Judah, now such no more ! — They are 
trampled down like the shorn grass, and mixed with the 
mire of the ways. Yet are there those among them who 
shame not such high descent, and of such shall be the 
daughter of Isaac the son of Adonikam ! Farewell! — I 
envy not thy blood-won honours; I envy not thy bar¬ 
barous descent from Northern heathens ; I envy thee not 
thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth but never in thy 
heart nor in thy practice.” , 


IVANHOE. 


427 


“ There is a spell on me, by Heaven! ” said Bois* 
Gnilbert. “ I almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke 
the truth, and that the reluctance with which I part 
from thee hath something in it more than is natural. 
Fair creature! ” he said, approaching nearer, but with 
great respect, “ so young, so beautiful, so fearless of 
death! and yet doomed to die, and with infamy and 
agony. Who would not weep for thee ? — The tear that 
has been a stranger to these eyelids for twenty years, 
moistens them as I gaze on thee. But it must be — 
nothing may now save thy life. Thou and I are but the 
blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that 
hurries us along like goodly vessels driving before the 
storm, which are dashed against each other, and so 
perish. Forgive me, then, and let us part at least as 
friends part. I have assailed thy resolution in vain, and 
mine own is fixed as the adamantine decrees of fate.” 

“Thus,” said Bebecca, “do men throw on fate the 
issue of their own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, 
Bois-Guilbert, though the author of my early death. 
There are noble things which cross over thy powerful 
mind ; but it is the garden of the sluggard, and the 
weeds have rushed up, and conspired to choke the fair 
and wholesome blossom.” 

“ Yes,” said the Templar, “I am, Bebecca, as thou hast 
spoken me, untaught, untamed; and proud that, amidst a 
shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have retained 
the preeminent fortitude that places me above them. I 
have been a child of battle from my youth upward, high 
in my views, steady and inflexible in pursuing them. 
Such must I remain — proud, inflexible, and unchanging ; 
and of this the world shall have proof. — But thou for- 
givest me, Bebecca ? ” 

« As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.” 

“Farewell, then,” said the Templar, and left the 
apartment. 

The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent 
chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Thou hast tarried long,” he said; “ I have been as if 
stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience. What 


428 


IVANHOE. 


if the Grand Master, or his spy Conrade, had come 
hither ? I had paid dear for my complaisance. — But 
what ails thee, brother? — Thy step totters, thy brow is 
as black as night. Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

“Ay,” answered the Templar, “as well as the wretch 
who is doomed to die within an hour. — Nay, by the 
rood, not half so well; for there be those in such state 
who can lay down life like a cast-off garment. By 
Heaven, Malvoisin, yonder girl hath wellnigh unmanned 
me. I am half resolved to go to the Grand Master, 
abjure the Order to his very teeth, and refuse to act the 
brutality which his tyranny has imposed on me.” 

“Thou art mad,” answered Malvoisin; “thou mayst 
thus indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even find 
a chance thereby to save the life of this Jewess, which 
seems so precious in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will name 
another of the Order to defend his judgment in thy place, 
and the accused will as assuredly perish as if thou hadst 
taken the duty imposed on thee.” 

“’Tis false; I will myself take arms in her behalf,” 
answered the Templar, haughtily; “ and should I do so, 
I think, Malvoisin, that thou knowest not one of the 
Order who will keep his saddle before the point of my 
lance.” 

“ Ay, but thou forgettest,” said the wily adviser, “ thou 
wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this 
mad project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir, and say thou 
hast renounced thy vow of obedience, and see how long 
the despotic old man will leave thee in personal freedom. 
The words shall scarce have left thy lips, ere thou wilt 
either be an hundred feet under ground, in the dungeon of 
the Preceptory, to abide trial as a recreant knight; or, if 
his opinion holds concerning thy possession, thou wilt be 
enjoying straw, darkness, and chains in some distant 
convent cell, stunned with exorcisms, and drenched with 
holy water, to expel the foul fiend which hath obtained 
dominion over thee. Thou must to the lists, Brian, or 
thou art a lost and dishonoured man.” 

“ I will break forth and fly,” said Bois-Guilbert — “ fly 
to some distant land to which folly a.nd fanaticism have 


IVANHOE. 


429 


not yet found their way. No drop of the blood of this 
most excellent creature shall be spilled by my sanction.” 

“ Thou canst not fly,” said the Preceptor: “ thy ravings 
have excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted to 
leave the Preceptory. Go and make the essay — present 
thyself before the gate, and command the bridge to be 
lowered, and mark what answer thou shalt receive. — 
Thou art surprised and offended; but is it not better for 
thee ? Wert thou to fly, what would ensue but the 
reversal of thy arms, the dishonour of thine ancestry, the 
degradation of thy rank ? — Think on it. Where shall 
thine old companions in arms hide their heads when 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, the best lance of the Templars, 
is proclaimed recreant, amid the hisses of the assembled 
people ? What grief will be at the Court of France! 
With what joy will the haughty Bichard hear the news, 
that the knight that set him hard in Palestine, and well- 
nigh darkened his renown, has lost fame and honour for 
a Jewish girl, whom he could not even save by so costly 
a sacrifice!” 

“ Malvoisin,” said the Knight, “ I thank thee — thou 
hast touched the strings at which my heart most readily 
thrills! Come of it what may, recreant shall never 
be added to the name of Bois-Guilbert. Would to God, 
Bichard, or any of his vaunting minions of England, 
would appear in these lists ! But they will be empty — 
no one will risk to break a lance for the innocent, the 
forlorn.” 

“ The better for thee, if it prove so,” said the Precep¬ 
tor; "if no champion appears, it is not by thy means 
that this unlucky damsel shall die, but by the doom 
of the Grand Master, with whom rests all the blame, and 
who will count that blame for praise and commenda¬ 
tion.” 

“True,” said Bois-Guilbert; “if no champion appears, 
I am but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed on horse¬ 
back in the lists, but having no part in what is to follow.” 

“None whatever,” said Malvoisin — “no more than the 
armed image of St. George when it makes part of a 
procession.” 


430 


1VANHOE. 


“Well, I will resume my resolution,” replied the 
haughty Templar. “She has despised me — repulsed 
me — reviled me; and wherefore should I offer up for 
her whatever of estimation I have in the opinion of 
others ? Malvoisin, I will appear in the lists.” 

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these 
words, and the Preceptor followed, to watch and confirm 
him in his resolution; for in Bois-Guilbert’s fame he 
had himself a strong interest, expecting much advan¬ 
tage from his being one day at the head of the Order* 
not to mention the preferment of which Mont-Fitchet 
had given him hopes, on condition he would forward the 
condemnation of the unfortunate Rebecca. Yet al¬ 
though, in combating his friend’s better feelings, he pos¬ 
sessed all the advantage which a wily, composed, selfish 
disposition has over a man agitated by strong and con¬ 
tending passions, it required all Malvoisin’s art to keep 
Bois-Guilbert steady to the purpose he had prevailed on 
him to adopt. He was obliged to watch him closely 
to prevent his resuming his purpose of flight, to intercept 
his communication with the Grand Master, lest he should 
come to an open rupture with his superior, and to renew, 
from time to time, the various arguments by which he 
endeavoured to show that, in appearing as champion on 
this occasion, Bois-Guilbert, without either accelerating 
or ensuring the fate of Rebecca, would follow the only 
course by which he could save himself from degradation 
and disgrace. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Shadows avaunt! — Richard’s himself again. 

Bichard III. 

When the Black Knight — for it becomes necessary to 
resume the train of his adventures—left the try sting- 
tree of the generous outlaw, he held his way straight 
to a neighbouring religious house, of small extent and 
revenue, called the Priory of St. Botolph, to which the 


IVANHOE. 


431 


mounded Ivanhoe had been removed when the castle was 
taken, under the guidance of the faithful G-urth and the 
magnanimous Wamba. It is unnecessary at present to 
mention what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred 
and his deliverer; suffice it to say that, after long and 
grave communication, messengers were despatched by the 
Prior in several directions, and that on the succeeding 
morning the Black Knight was about to set forth on his 
journey, accompanied by the jester, Wamba, who attended 
as his guide. 

“ We will meet,” he said to Ivanhoe, “ at Coningsburgh, 
the castle of the deceased Athelstane, since there thy 
father Cedric holds the funeral feast for his noble rela- 
tion. I would see your Saxon kindred together, Sir 
Wilfred, and become better acquainted with them than 
heretofore. Thou also wilt meet me; and it shall be my 
task to reconcile thee to thy father.” 

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, 
who expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his de¬ 
liverer. But the Black Knight would not listen to the 
proposal. 

“ Best this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough 
to travel on the next. I will have no guide with me but 
honest Wamba, who can play priest or fool as I shall be 
most in the humour.” 

“ And I,” said Wamba, “will attend you with all my 
heart. I would fain see the feasting at the funeral of 
Athelstane; for, if it be not full and frequent, he will 
rise from the dead to rebuke cook, sewer, and cupbearer; 
and that were a sight worth seeing. Always, Sir Knight, 
I will trust your valour with making my excuse to my 
master Cedric, in case mine own wit should fail.” 

“And how should my poor valour ''succeed, Sir Jester, 
when thy light wit halts ? — resolve me that.” 

“Wit, Sir Knight,” replied the Jester, “may do much. 
He is a, quick,.apprehensive knave, who sees his neigh¬ 
bour’s blind side, and knows how to keep the lee-gage 
when his passions are blowing high. But valour is a 
sturdy fellow, that makes all split. He rows against 
both wind and tide, and makes way notwithstanding; 


432 


IVAN HOB. 


and, therefore, good Sir Knight, while I take advantage 
of the fair weather in our noble master’s temper, I will 
expect you to bestir yourself when it grows rough.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure 
so to be distinguished,” said Ivanhoe, “I fear me you 
have chosen a talkative and a troublesome fool to be your 
guide. But he knows every path and alley in the woods 
as well as e’er a hunter who frequents them; and the poor 
knave, as thou hast partly seen, is as faithful as steel.” 

“Kay,” said the Knight, “an he have the gift of show¬ 
ing my road, I shall not grumble with him that he desires 
to make it pleasant. Fare thee -vfell, kind Wilfred — I 
charge thee not to attempt to travel till to-morrow at 
earliest.” 

So saying he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who 
pressed it to his lips, took leave of the Prior, mounted 
his horse, and departed, with Wamba for his companion. 
Ivanhoe followed them with his eyes until they were lost 
in the shades of the surrounding forest, and then returned 
into the convent. 

But shortly after matin-song he requested to see the 
Prior. The old man came in haste, and inquired anxiously 
after the state of his health. 

“ It is better,” he said, “ than my fondest hope could 
have anticipated; either my wound has been slighter than 
the effusion of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam 
hath wrought a wonderful cure upon it. . I feel already 
as if I could bear my corselet; and so much the better, 
for thoughts pass in my mind which render me unwill¬ 
ing to remain here longer in inactivity.” 

“Now, the saints forbid,” said the Prior, “that the son 
of the Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his 
wounds were healed! It were shame to our profession 
were we to suffer it.” 

“Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, ven¬ 
erable father,” said Ivanhoe, “ did I not f§el myself able 
to endure the journey, and compelled to undertake it.” 

“ And what can have urged you to so sudden a de¬ 
parture ? ” said the Prior. 

“'Have you never, holy father,” answered the knight 


IVANHOE. 


433 


u felt an apprehension of approaching evil, for which you 
in vain attempted to assign a cause ? — Have you never 
found your mind darkened, like the sunny landscape, by 
the sudden cloud, which augurs a coming tempest? — 
And thinkest thou not that such impulses are deserving 
of attention, as being the hints of our guardian spirits 
that danger is impending ? ” 

“ I may not deny,” said the Prior, crossing himself, 
“ that such things have been, and have been of Heaven; 
but then such communications have had a visibly useful 
scope and tendency. But thou, wounded as thou art, 
what avails it thou shouldst follow the steps of him 
whom thou couldst not aid, were he to be assaulted ? ” 

“ Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “ thou dost mistake — I am stout 
enough to exchange buffets with any who will challenge 
me to such a traffic — But were it otherwise, may I not 
aid himTwere he in danger, by other means than by force 
of arms ? It is but too well known that the Saxons love 
not the Norman race, and who knows what may be the 
issue if he break in upon them when their hearts are irri¬ 
tated by the death of Athelstane, and their heads heated 
by the carousal in which they will indulge themselves ? 
I hold his entrance among them at such a moment most 
perilous, and I am resolved to share or avert the danger; 
which, that I may the better do, I would crave of thee 
the use of some palfrey whose pace may be softer than 
that of my destrier .” 

“ Surely,” said the worthy churchman; “ you shall 
have mine own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as 
easy for your sake as that of the Abbot of St. Alban’s. Yet 
this will I say for Malkin, for so I call her, that unless 
you were to borrow a ride on the juggler’s steed that 
paces a hornpipe amongst the eggs, you could not go a 
journey on a creature so gentle and smooth-paced. I 
have composed many a homily on her back, to the edifi¬ 
cation of my brethren of the convent and many poor 
Christian souls.” 

“ I pray you, reverend father,” said Ivanhoe, “ let Mal¬ 
kin be got ready instantly, and bid Gurth. attend me with 
mine arms.” 


434 


IVANHOE. 


“ Nay, but, fair sir,” said the Prior, “ I pray you to re¬ 
member that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her 
master, and that I warrant not her enduring the sight or 
weight of your full panoply. Oh, Malkin, I promise you, 
is a beast of judgment, and will contend against any un¬ 
due weight — I did but borrow the Fructus Temporum 
from the priest of St. Bee’s, and I promise you she would 
not stir from the gate until I had exchanged the huge 
volume for my little breviary.” 

“ Trust me, holy father,” said Ivanhoe, “ I will not dis¬ 
tress her with too much weight; and if she calls a com¬ 
bat with me, it is odds but she has the worst.” 

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the 
Knight’s heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable of 
convincing any restive horse that best safety lay in being 
conformable to the will of his rider. 

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe’s heels 
were now armed began to make the worthy Prior repent 
of his courtesy and ejaculate: “Nay, but, fair sir, now I 
bethink me, my Malkin abideth not the spur. Better it 
were that you tarry for the mare of our manciple down 
at the grange, which may be had in little more than an 
hour, and cannot but be tractable, in respect that she 
draweth much of our winter firewood, and eateth no corn.” 

“ I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your 
first offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the 
gate. Gurth shall carry mine armour; and for the rest, 
rely on it that, as I will not overload Malkin’s back, she 
shall not overcome my patience. And now, farewell! ” 

Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and 
easily than his wound promised, and threw himself upon 
the jennet, eager to escape the importunity of the Prior, 
who stuck as closely to his side as his age and fatness 
would permit, now singing the praises of Malkin, now 
recommending caution to the knight in managing her. 

“ She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as 
well as mares,” said the old man, laughing at his own 
jest, “ being barely in her fifteenth year.” 

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand 
canvassing a palfrey’s paces with its owner, lent but a 


IVANHOE. 


435 


deaf ear to the Prior’s grave advices and facetious jests, 
and having leapt on his mare, and commanded his squire 
(for such G-urth now called himself) to keep close by his 
side, he followed the track of the Black Knight into 
the forest, while the Prior stood at the gate of the con¬ 
vent lobking after him, and ejaculating : “ St. Mary! how 
prompt and fiery be these men of war! I would I had 
not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippled as I am 
with the cold rheum, I am undone if aught but good 
befalls her. And yet,” said he, recollecting himself, “ as 
I would not spare my own old and disabled limbs in the 
good cause of Old England, so Malkin must e’en run her 
hazard on the same venture; and it may be they will think 
our poor house worthy of some munificent guerdon — or, 
it may be, they will send the old Prior a pacing nag. 
And if they do none of these, as great men will forget 
little men’s service, truly I shall hold me well repaid in 
having done that which is right. And it is now wellnigh 
the fitting time to summon the brethren to breakfast in 
the refectory. — Ah! I doubt they obey that call more 
cheerily than the bells for primes and matins.” 

So the Prior of St. Botolph’s hobbled back again into 
the refectory, to preside over the stock-fish and ale which 
were just serving out for the friars’ breakfast. Pursy 
and important, he sat him down at the table, and many a 
dark word he threw out of benefits to be expected to the 
convent, and high deeds of service done by himself, which 
at another season would have attracted observation. But 
as the stock-fish was highly salted, and the ale reasonably 
powerful, the jaws of the brethren were too anxiously 
employed to admit of their making much use of their 
ears; nor do we read of any of the fraternity who was 
tempted to speculate upon the mysterious hints of their 
superior, except Father Diggory, who was severely af¬ 
flicted by the toothache, so that he could only eat on one 
side of his jaws. 

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide 
were pacing at their leisure through the recesses of the 
forest; the good Knight whiles humming to himself the 


436 


IVANHOE. 


lay of some enamoured troubadour, sometimes encourag 
ing by questions the prating disposition of his attendant, 
so that their dialogue formed a whimsical mixture of song 
and jest, of which we would fain give our readers some 
idea. You are then to imagine this Knight, such as we 
have already described him, strong of person, tall,' broad- 
shouldered, and large of bone, mounted on his mighty 
black charger, which seemed made on purpose to bear his 
weight, so easily he paced forward under it, having the 
visor of his helmet raised, in order to admit freedom of 
breath, yet keeping the beaver, or under part, closed, so 
that his features could be but imperfectly distinguished. 
But his ruddy embrowned cheek-bones could be plainly 
seen, and the large and bright blue eyes, that flashed from 
under the dark shade of the raised visor; and the whole 
gesture and look of the champion expressed careless gai¬ 
ety and fearless confidence — a mind which was unapt to 
apprehend danger, and prompt to defy it when most im¬ 
minent, yet with whom danger was a familiar thought, 
as with one whose trade was war and adventure. 

The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late acci¬ 
dents had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead 
of his wooden sword, with a targe to match it; of both 
which weapons he had, notwithstanding his profession, 
shown himself a skilful master during the storming of 
Torquilstone. Indeed, the infirmity of Wamba’s brain 
consisted chiefly in a kind of impatient irritability, which 
suffered him not long to remain quiet in any posture, or 
adhere to any certain train of ideas, although he was for 
a few minutes alert enough in performing any immediate 
task, or in apprehending any immediate topic. On horse¬ 
back therefore, he was perpetually swinging himself back¬ 
wards and forwards, now on the horse’s ears, then anon 
on the very rump of the animal; now hanging both his 
legs on one side, and now sitting with his face to the tail, 
mopping, mowing, and making a thousand apish gestures { 
until his palfrey took his freaks so much to heart as fairly 
to lay him at his length on the green grass — an incident 
which greatly amused the Knight, but compelled his com* 
panion to ride more steadily thereafter. 


IVANHOE. 


437 


At the point of their journey at which we take them 
up, this joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai, as 
it was called, in which the clown bore a mellow burden 
to the better-instructed Knight of the Fetterlock. And 
•thus run the ditty: 

Anna Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna Marie, love, morn is begun, 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 

Up in the morning, love, Anna Marie. 

Anna Marie, love, up in the morn, 

The hunter is winding blythe sounds on his horn, 

The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 

’Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna Marie. 

Wamba. 

O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, 

Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit, 

For what are the joys that in waking we prove, 

Compared with these visions, O Tybalt, my love ? 

Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, 

Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill, 

Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, — 

But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love. 

“ A dainty song,” said Wamba, when they had finished 
their carol, u and I swear by my bauble, a pretty moral! 
I used to sing it with Gurth, once my playfellow, and 
now, by the grace of God and his master, no less than a 
freeman; and we once came by the cudgel for being so 
entranced by the melody that we lay in bed two hours 
after sunrise, singing the ditty betwixt sleeping and 
waking; my bones ache at thinking of the tunc ever 
since. Nevertheless, I have played the part of Anna 
Marie to please you, fair sir.” 

The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of 
comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, 
replied in the like manner. 

Knight and Wamba. 

There came three merry men from south, west, and north, 
Ever more sing the roundelay ; 

To win the Widow of Wycombe forth, 

And where was the widow might say them nay ? 


438 


IVAN HOE. 


The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came, 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 

And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame, 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, 

He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire, 

For she was the widow would say him nay. 

Wamba. 

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails, 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 

Hur’s a gentleman, God wot, and hur’s lineage was of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay ; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few, 

And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

Jollily singing his roundelay ; 

He spoke to the widow of living and rent, 

And where was the widow could say him nay ? 

Both. 

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, 
There for to sing their roundelay ; 

For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 

There never was a widow could say him nay. 

“ I would, Wamba,” said the Knight, “ that our host of 
fche try sting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard 
this thy ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman.” 

“ So would not I,” said Wamba, “ but for the horn that 
hangs at your baldric.” 

“ Ay,” said the Knight, “ this is a pledge of Locksley’s 
good will, though I am not like to need it. Three mots 
on this bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at our 
need, a jolly band of yonder honest yeomen.” 

“I would say, Heaven forefend,” said the Jester, 


IVANHOE. 


439 


6i were it not that that fair gift is a pledge they would 
let us pass peaceably.” 

“ Why, what meanest thou ? ” said the Knight; “ think, 
est thou that but for this pledge of fellowship they 
would assault us ? ” 

“ Kay, for me I say nothing,” said Wamba; “ for green 
trees have ears as well as stone walls. But canst thou 
construe me this, Sir Knight? — When is thy wine> 
pitcher and thy purse better empty than full ? ” 

“ Why, never, I think,” replied the Knight. 

“ Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, 
for so simple an answer! Thou hadst best empty thy 
pitcher ere thou pass it to a Saxon, and leave thy money 
at home ere thou walk in the greenwood.” 

“You hold our friends for robbers, then?” said the 
Knight of the Fetterlock. 

“You hear me not say so, fair sir,” said Wamba. “ It 
may relieve a man’s steed to take off his mail when he 
hath a long journey to make; and, certes, it may do 
good to the rider’s soul to ease him of that which is the 
root of evil; therefore will I give no hard names to those 
who do such services. Only I would wish my mail at 
home, and my purse in my chamber, when I meet with 
these good fellows, because it might save them some 
trouble.” 

“ We are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwith¬ 
standing the fair character thou dost afford them.” 

“Pray for them with all my heart,” said Wamba; 
“ but in the town, not in the greenwood, like the abbot 
of St. Bee’s, whom they caused to say mass with an old 
hollow oak-tree for his stall.” 

“ Say as thou list, Wamba,” replied the Knight, “ these 
yeomen did thy master Cedric yeomanly service at 
Torquilstone.” 

“ Ay, truly,” answered Wamba; “ but that was in the 
fashion of their trade with Heaven.” 

“Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that?” re¬ 
plied his companion. 

“Marry, thus,” said the Jester. “They make up a 
balanced account with Heaven, as our old cellarer used 


440 


IVANHOE. 


to call his ciphering, as fair as Isaac the Jew keeps with 
his debtors, and, like him, give out a very little, and take 
large credit for doing so; reckoning, doubtless, on their 
own behalf the sevenfold usury which the blessed text 
hath promised to charitable loans.’’ 

“Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba — I 
know nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,” answered the 
Knight. 

“ Why,” said Wamba, “ an your valour be so dull, you 
will please to learn that those honest fellows balance a 
good deed with one not quite so laudable, as a crown 
given to a begging friar with a hundred byzants taken 
from a fat abbot, or a wench kissed in the greenwood 
with the relief of a poor widow.” 

“Which of these was the good deed, which was the 
felony ? ” interrupted the Knight. 

“A good gibe! a good gibe!” said Wamba; “keeping 
witty company sharpeneth the apprehension. You said 
nothing so well, Sir Knight, I will be sworn, when you 
held drunken vespers with the bluff hermit — But to go 
on — The merry men of the forest set off the building of 
a cottage with the burning of a castle, the thatching of a 
choir against the robbing of a church, the setting afree a 
poor prisoner against the murder of a proud sheriff, or to 
come nearer to our point, the deliverance of a Saxon 
franklin against the burning alive of a Norman baron. 
Gentle thieves they are, in short, and courteous robbers; 
but it is ever the luckiest to meet with them when they 
are at the worst.” 

“ How so, Wamba ? ” said the Knight. 

“ Why, then they have some compunction, and are for 
making up matters with Heaven. But when they have 
struck an even balance, Heaven help them with whom 
they next open the account! The travellers who first met 
them after their good service at Torquilstone would have a 
woeful flaying.—And yet,” said Wamba, coming close up to 
the Knight’s side, “ there be companions who are far more 
dangerous for travellers to meet than yonder outlaws.” 

“And who may they be, for you have neither bears 
nor wolves, I trow ? ” said the Knight. 


IVANHOE. 


441 


“ Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin’s men-at-arms,” 
said Wamba; “and let me tell you that, in time of civil 
war, a half-score of these is worth a band of wolves at 
any time. They are now expecting their harvest, and 
are reinforced with the soldiers that escaped from Tor- 
quilstone; so that, should we meet with a band of them, 
we are like to pay for our feats of arms.—Now, I pray 
you, Sir Knight, what would you do if we met two of 
them ? ” 

“Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, 
if they offered us any impediment.” 

“ But what if there were four of them ? ” 

“They should drink of the same cup,” answered the 
Knight. 

“ What if six,” continued Wamba, “*and we as we now 
are, barely two; would you not remember Locksley’s 
horn ? ” 

“ What! sound for aid,” exclaimed the Knight, “ against 
a score of such rascaille as these, whom one good knight 
could drive before him, as the wind drives the withered 
leaves ? ” 

“Nay, then,” said Wamba, “I will pray you for a 
close sight of that same horn that hath so powerful a 
breath.” 

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and in¬ 
dulged his fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the 
bugle round his own neck. 

“ Tra-lira-la,” said he, whistling the notes; “nay, I 
know my gamut as well as another.” 

“ How mean you, knave ? ” said the Knight; “ restore 
me the bugle.” 

« Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When 
Valour and Polly travel, Folly should bear the horn, be¬ 
cause she can blow the best.” 

“Nay, but, rogue,” said the Black Knight, “this ex¬ 
ceeded thy license — Beware ye tamper not with my 
patience.” 

“Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight,” said the 
Jester, keeping at a distance from the impatient cham¬ 
pion, “ or Folly will show a clean pair of heels, and leave 


442 


IVANHOE. 


Valour to find out Lis way through the wood as best he 
may.” 

“ Nay, thou hast hit me there,” said the Knight; “ and, 
sooth to say, I have little time to jangle with thee. Keep 
the horn an thou wilt, but let us proceed on our journey.” 

“ You will not harm me then ? ” said Wamba. 

“ I tell thee no, thou knave ! ” 

“ Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,” con¬ 
tinued Wamba, as he approached with great caution. 

“ My knightly word I pledge ; only come On with thy 
foolish self.” 

“Nay, then, Valour and Folly are once more boon 
companions,” said the Jester, coming up frankly to the 
Knight’s side; “ but, in truth, I love not such buffets as 
that you bestowed on the burly Friar, when his holiness 
rolled on the green like a king of the nine-pins. And 
now that Folly wears the horn, let Valour rouse himself 
and shake his mane; for, if I mistake not, there are 
company in yonder brake that are on the lookout for 
us.” 

“What makes thee judge so?” said the Knight. 

“ Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of 
a morrion from amongst the green leaves. Had they 
been honest'men, they had kept the path. But yonder 
thicket is a choice chapel for the clerks of St. Nicholas.” 

“ By my faith,” said the Knight, closing his visor, “ I 
think thou be’st in the right on’t.” 

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows flew 
at the same instant from the suspected spot against his 
head and breast, one of which would have penetrated to 
the brain, had it not been turned aside by the steel visor. 
The other two were averted by the gorget, and by the 
shield which hung around his neck. 

“ Thanks, trusty armourer,” said the Knight. “Wamba, 
let us close with them,” — and he rode straight to the 
thicket. He was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who 
ran against him with their lances at full career. Three 
of the weapons struck against him, and splintered with 
as little effect as if they had been driven against a tower 
of steel. The Black Knight’s eyes seemed to flash fire 






























IVANHOE. 


443 


even through the aperture of his visor. He raised him¬ 
self in his stirrups with an air of inexpressible dignity, 
and exclaimed, “ What means this, my masters ! ” — The 
men made no other reply than by drawing their swords 
and attacking him on every side, crying, “ Die, tyrant! 7/ 

“ Ha! St. Edward ! Ha! St. George! ” said the Black 
Knight, striking down a man at every invocation; “ have 
we traitors here ? ” 

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from 
an arm which carried death in every blow, and it seemed 
as if the terror of his single strength was about to gain 
the battle against such odds, when a knight in blue 
armour, who had hitherto kept himself behind the other 
assailants, spurred forward with his lance, ana taking 
aim, not at the rider but at the steed, wounded the noble 
animal mortally. 

“ That was a felon stroke!” exclaimed the Black Knight, 
as the steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider along with 
him. 

And at this moment Wamba winded the bugle, for the 
whole had passed so speedily that he had not time to do 
so sooner. The sudden sound made the murderers bear 
back once more, and Wamba, though so imperfectly 
weaponed, did not hesitate to rush in and assist the 
Black Knight to rise. 

“ Shame on ye, false cowards! ” exclaimed he in the 
blue harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, “ do ye 
fly from the empty blast of a horn blown by a Jester ? ” 

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight 
anew, whose best refuge was now to place his back against 
an oak, and defend himself with his sword. The felon 
knight, who had taken another spear, watching the mo¬ 
ment when his formidable antagonist was most closely 
pressed, galloped against him in hopes to nail him with 
his lance against the tree, when his purpose was again 
intercepted by Wamba. The Jester, making up by agility 
the want of strength, and little noticed by the men-at- 
arms, who were busied in their more important object, 
hovered on the skirts of the fight, and effectually checked 
the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by hamstringing his 


444 


IVANHOE. 


"horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse and man went 
to the ground; yet the situation of the Knight of the 
Fetterlock continued very precarious, as he was pressed 
close by several men completely armed, and began to be 
fatigued by the violent exertions necessary to defend 
himself on so many points at nearly the same moment, 
when a grey-goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth 
one of the most formidable of his assailants, and a band 
of yeomen broke forth from the glade, headed by Locksley 
and the jovial Friar, who, taking ready and effectual part 
in the fray, soon disposed of the ruffians, all of whom lay 
on the spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black Knight 
thanked his deliverers with a dignity they had not ob¬ 
served in his former bearing, which hitherto had seemed 
rather that of a blunt, bold soldier than of a person of 
exalted rank. 

“ It concerns me much,” he said, “ even before I ex¬ 
press my full gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, 
if I may, who have been my unprovoked enemies. — 
Open the visor of that Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems 
the chief of these villains.” 

The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the 
assassins, who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under 
the wounded steed, lay incapable either of flight or 
resistance. 

“Come, valiant sir,”, said Wamba, “I must be your 
armourer as well as your equerry. — I have dismounted 
you, and now I will unhelm you.” 

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the 
helmet of the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance 
on the grass, displayed to the Knight of the Fetterlock 
grizzled locks, and a countenance he did not expect to 
have seen under such circumstances. 

“ Waldemar Fitzurse! ” he said in astonishment; “what 
could urge one of thy rank and seeming worth to so foul 
an undertaking ? ” 

“Bichard,” said the captive knight, looking up to him, 
“thou knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not 
to what ambition and revenge can lead every child of 
Adam.” 


IVANHOE. 


445 


“ Revenge ! ” answered the Black Knight; “ I never 
wronged thee — On me thou hast nought to revenge.” 

“My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst 
scorn — was that no injury to a Norman, whose blood is 
noble as thine own ? ” 

“Thy daughter!” replied the Black Knight. “A 
proper cause of enmity, and followed up to a bloody 
issue! — Stand back, my masters, I would speak to him 
alone — And now, Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the truth; 
confess who set thee on this traitorous deed.” 

“Thy father’s son,” answered Waldemar, “who, in so 
doing, did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to thv 
father.” 

Richard’s eyes sparkled with indignation, but his 
better nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against 
his brow, and remained an instant gazing on the face of 
the humbled baron, in whose features pride was contend¬ 
ing with shame. * 

“ Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar ? ” said the 
King. 

“ He that is in the lion’s clutch,” answered Fitzurse, 
“ knows it were needless.” 

“ Take it, then, unasked,” said Richard; “ the lion 
preys not on prostrate carcasses — Take thy life, but 
with this condition, that in three days thou shalt leave 
England, and go to hide thine infamy in thy Norman 
castle, and that thou wilt never mention the name of 
John of Anjou as connected with thy felony. If thou 
art found on English ground after the space I have al¬ 
lotted thee, thou diest — or if thou breathest aught that 
can attaint the honour of my house, by St. George! not 
the altar itself shall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee 
out to feed the ravens from the very pinnacle of thine 
own castle. Let this knight have a steed, Locksley, for 
I see your yeomen have caught those which were run¬ 
ning loose, and let him depart unharmed.” 

“ But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests 
must not be disputed,” answered the yeoman, “ I would 
send a shaft after the skulking villain that should spare 
him the labour of a long journey.” 


446 


IVANHOE. 


“Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,” said the 
Black Knight, “and well dost judge thou art the more 
bound to obey my behest — I am Richard of England! ” 

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty 
suited to the high rank, and no less distinguished char¬ 
acter, of Coeur-de-Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled down 
before him, and at the same time tendered their alle¬ 
giance, and implored pardon for their offences. 

“ Rise, my friends,” said Richard, in a gracious tone, 
looking on them with a countenance in which his habit¬ 
ual good-humour had already conquered the blaze of 
hasty resentment, and whose features retained no mark 
of the late desperate conflict, excepting the flush arising 
from exertion — “ arise,” he said, “ my friends! Your 
misdemeanours, whether in forest or held, have been 
atoned by the loyal services you rendered my distressed 
subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and the res¬ 
cue you have this ddy afforded to your sovereign. Arise 
my liegemen, and be good subjects in future. — And thou, 
brave Locksley-” 

“ Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know me 
under the name which, I fear, fame hath blown too 
widely not to have reached even your royal ears — I am 
Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest.” 

“ King of outlaws, and Prince of good fellows ! ” said 
the King, “ who hath not heard a name that has been 
borne as far as Palestine ? But be assured, brave Out¬ 
law, that no deed done in our absence, and in the 
turbulent times to which it hath given rise, shall be 
remembered to thy disadvantage.” 

“ True says the proverb,” said Wamba, interposing his 
word, but with some abatement of his usual petulance — 

“ ‘ When the cat is away, 

The mice will play.’ ” 

“What, Wamba, art thou there?” said Richard; “I 
have been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou 
hadst taken flight.” 

“I take flight!” said W 7 amba; “when do you ever 
find Folly separated from Valour ? There lies the trophy 



IVANHOE. 


447 


of my sword, that good grey gelding, whom I heartily 
wish upon his legs again, conditioning his master lay 
there houghed in his place. It is true, I gave a little 
ground at first, for a motley jacket does not brook lance- 
heads as a steel doublet will. But if I fought not at 
sword’s point, you will grant me that I sounded the 
onset.” 

“And to good purpose, honest Wamba,” replied the 
King. “Thy good service shall not be forgotten.” 

“ Conjiteor ! conjiteor ! ” exclaimed, in a submissive 
tone, a voice near the King’s side; “ my Latin will 
carry me no farther, but I confess my deadly treason, 
and pray leave to have absolution before I am led to 
execution! ” 

Bichard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on 
his knees, telling his rosary, while his quarter-staff, which 
had not been idle during the skirmish, lay on the grass 
beside him. His countenance was gathered so as he 
thought might best express the most profound contri¬ 
tion, his eyes being turned up, and the corners of his 
mouth drawn down, as Wamba expressed it, like the 
tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet this demure affec¬ 
tation of extreme penitence was whimsically belied by 
a ludicrous meaning which lurked in his huge features, 
and seemed to pronounce his fear and repentance alike 
hypocritical. 

“ For what art thou cast down, mad priest ? ” said 
Bichard; “ art thou afraid thy diocesan should learn 
how truly thou dost serve Our Lady and St. Hunstan ? 
Tush, man ! fear it not; Bichard of England betrays no 
secrets that pass over the flagon.” 

“ Kay, most gracious sovereign,” answered the hermit, 
(well known to the curious in penny histories of Bobin 
Hood by the name of Friar Tuck,) “ it is not the crosier 
I fear, but the sceptre. Alas ! that my sacrilegious fist 
should ever have been applied to the ear of the Lord’s 
anointed! ” 

“ Ha ! ha! ” said Bichard, “ sits the wind there ? — 
In truth, I had iorgotten the buffet, though mine ear 
sung after it for a whole day. But if the cuff was fairly 


448 


IVAN HOE. 


given, I will be judged by the good men around, if it 
was not as well repaid — or, if thou thinkest I still owe 
thee aught, and will stand forth for another counter- 
buff -” 

“ By no means,” replied Friar Tuck, “ I had mine own 
returned, and with usury — may your Majesty ever pay 
your debts as fully ! ” 

“If I could do so with cuffs,” said the King, “my 
creditors should have little reason to complain of an 
empty exchequer.” 

“ And yet,” said the Friar, resuming his demure, hypo¬ 
critical countenance, “ I know not what penance I ought 
to perform for that most sacrilegious blow! ” 

“ Speak no more of it, brother,” said the King; “ after 
having stood so many cuffs from Paynims and misbe¬ 
lievers, I were void of reason to quarrel with the buffet 
of a clerk so holy as he of Copmanhurst. Yet, mine 
honest Friar, I think it would be best both for the church 
and thyself that I should procure a license to unfrock thee, 
and retain thee as a yeoman of our guard, serving in care 
of our person, as formerly in attendance upon the altar 
of St. Dunstan.” 

“My Liege,” said the Friar, “I humbly crave your 
pardon; and you would readily grant my excuse, did you 
but know how the sin of laziness has beset me. St. Dun¬ 
stan — may he be gracious to us! — stands quiet in his 
niche, though I should forget my orisons in killing a fat 
buck; I stay out of my cell sometimes a night, doing I 
wot not what— St. Dunstan never complains — a quiet 
master he is, and a peaceful, as ever was made of wood. 
But to be a yeoman in attendance on my sovereign the 
King — the honour is great, doubtless — yet, if I were 
but to step aside to comfort a widow in one corner, or 
to kill a deer in another, it would be, ‘ Where is the dog 
Priest ? 9 says one. ‘ Who has seen the accursed Tuck ? ? 
says another. ‘ The unfrocked villain destroys more veni¬ 
son than half the country besides/ says one keeper; ‘ And 
is hunting after every shy doe in the country! ? quoth a 
second. In fine, good my Liege, I pray you to leave me 
as you found me; or, if in aught you desire to extend 



IVANHOE' 


449 


your benevolence to me, that I may be considered as the 
poor clerk of St. Dunstan’s cell in Copmanhurst, to whom 
any small donation will be most thankfully acceptable.” 

U I understand thee,” said the King, “and the holy 
clerk shall have a grant of vert and venison in my woods 
of Wharncliffe. Mark, however, I will but assign thee 
three bucks every season; but if that do not prove an 
apology for thy slaying thirty, I am no Christian knight 
nor true king.” 

“Your Grace may be well assured,” said the Friar, 
“that, with the grace of St. Dunstan, I shall find the 
way of multiplying your most bounteous gift.” 

“I nothing doubt it, good brother,” said the King; 
“ and as venison is but dry food, our, cellarer shall have 
orders to deliver to thee a butt of sack, a runlet of Mal- 
voisie, and three hogsheads of ale of the first strike, 
yearly. If that will not quench thy thirst, thou must 
come to court, and become acquainted with my butler.” 

“ But for St. Dunstan ? ” said the Friar -—— 

“A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also 
have,” continued the King, crossing himself. “ But we 
may not turn our game into earnest, lest God punish us 
for thinking more on our follies than on His honour and 
worship.” 

“ I will answer for my patron,” said the priest, joy¬ 
ously. 

“ Answer for thyself, Friar,” said King Bichard, some¬ 
thing sternly; but immediately stretching out his hand 
to the hermit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his 
knee, and saluted it. “Thou dost less honour to my 
extended palm than to my clenched fist,” said the mon¬ 
arch ; “ thou didst only kneel to the one, and to the other 
didst prostrate thyself.” 

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence 
by continuing the conversation in too jocose a style — a 
false step to be particularly guarded against by those who 
converse with monarchs — bowed profoundly, and fell 
into the rear. 

At the same time, two additional personages appeared 
on the scene. 

2 G 



450 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

All hail to the lordlings of high degree, 

Who live not more happy, though greater than we ! 

Our pastimes to see, 

Under every green tree, 

In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye he. 

Macdonald. 

The new-comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the Prior 
of Botolph’s palfrey, and G-urth, who attended him, on 
the knight’s own war-horse. The astonishment of Ivan¬ 
hoe was beyond bounds when he saw his master be¬ 
sprinkled with blood, and six or seven dead bodies lying 
around in the little glade in which the battle had taken 
place. Nor was he less surprised to see Richard sur¬ 
rounded by so many silvan attendants, the outlaws, as 
they seemed to be, of the forest, and a perilous retinue 
therefore for a prince. He hesitated whether to address 
the King as the Black Knight-errant, or in what other 
manner to demean himself towards him. Richard saw 
his embarrassment. 

“Fear not, Wilfred,” he said, “to address Richard 
Plantagenet as himself, since thou seest him in the com¬ 
pany of true English hearts, although it may be they have 
been urged a few steps aside by warm English blood.” 

“ Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,” said the gallant outlaw, 
stepping forward, “my assurances can add nothing to 
those of our sovereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly, 
that of men who have suffered much, he hath no truer 
subjects than those who now stand around him.” 

“I cannot doubt it, brave man,” said Wilfred, “since 
thou art of the number. But what mean these marks of 
death and danger —these slain men, and the bloody 
armour of my Prince ? ” 

“ Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe,” said the King; 
“but, thanks to these brave men, treason hath met its 
meed. But, now I bethink me, thou too art a traitor,” 
said Richard, smiling — “a most disobedient traitor; 
for were not our orders positive that thou shouldst 


IVANHOE. 


451 


repose thyself at St. Botolph’s until thy wound was 
healed ? ” 

“ It is healed/’ said Ivanhoe — “ it is not of more con¬ 
sequence than the scratch of a bodkin. But why — oh 
why, noble Prince, will you thus vex the hearts of your 
faithful servants, and expose your life by lonely journeys 
and rash adventures, as if it were of no more value than 
that of a mere knight-errant, who has no interest but what? 
lance and sword may procure him ? ” 

“ And Bichard Plantagenet,” said the King, “ desires 
no more fame than his good lance and sword may acquire 
him; and Bichard Plantagenet is prouder of achieving 
an adventure, with only his good sword and his good arm 
to speed, than if he led to battle an host of an hundred 
thousand armed men.” 

“ But your kingdom, my Liege,” said Ivanhoe — “your 
kingdom is threatened with dissolution and civil war — 
your subjects are menaced with every species of evil, if 
deprived of their sovereign in some of those dangers which 
it is your daily pleasure to incur, and from which you 
have but this moment narrowly escaped.” 

“Ho! ho! my kingdom and my subjects!” answered 
Bichard, impatiently; “I tell thee, Sir Wilfred, the best 
of them are most willing to repay my follies in kind. — 
For example, my very faithful servant, Wilfred of Ivan¬ 
hoe, will not obey my positive commands, and yet reads 
his king a homily, because he does not walk exactly by 
his advice. Which of us has most reason to upbraid the 
other ? —Yet forgive me, my faithful Wilfred. The time 
I have spent, and am yet to spend, in concealment is, 
as I explained to thee at St. Botolph’s, necessary to give 
my friends and faithful nobles time to assemble their 
forces, that, when Bichard’s return is announced, he 
should be at the head of such a force as enemies shall 
tremble to face, and thus subdue the meditated treason, 
without even unsheathing a sword. Estoteville and Bo- 
hun will not be strong enough to move forward to York 
for twenty-four hours. I must have news of Salisbury 
from the south, and of Beauchamp in Warwickshire, and 
of Multon and Percy in the north. The Chancellor must 


452 


IVANHOE. 


make sure of London. Too sudden an appearance would 
subject me to dangers other than my lance and sword, 
though backed by the bow of bold Robin, or the quarter- 
staff of Friar Tuck, and the horn of the sage Wamba, 
may be able to rescue me from.” 

Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain 
it was to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which 
so often impelled his master upon dangers which he 
might easily have avoided, or, rather, which it was unpar¬ 
donable in him to have sought out. The young knight 
sighed, therefore, and held his peace; while Richard, 
rejoiced at having silenced his counsellor, though his 
heart acknowledged the justice of the charge he had 
brought against him, went on in conversation with 
Robin Hood. “King of outlaws,” he said, “have you no 
refreshment to offer to your brother sovereign ? for these 
dead knaves have found me both in exercise and appetite.” 

“ In troth,” replied the outlaw, “ for I scorn to lie to 

your Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied with-” He 

stopped, and. was somewhat embarrassed. 

“With venison, I suppose?” said Richard, gaily; 
“ better food at need there can be none; and truly, if a 
king will not remain at home and slay his own game, 
methinks he should not brawl too loud if he finds it killed 
to his hand.” 

“If your Grace, then,” said Robin, “will again honour 
with your presence one of Robin Hood’s places of ren¬ 
dezvous, the venison shall not be lacking; and a stoup 
of ale, and it may be a cup of reasonably good wine, to 
relish it withal.” 

The outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by the 
buxom monarch, more happy, probably, in this chance 
meeting with Robin Hood and his foresters than he would 
have been in again assuming his royal state, and presid¬ 
ing over a splendid circle of peers and nobles. Novelty 
in society and adventure was the zest of life to Richard 
Ooeur-de-Lion, and it had its highest relish when en¬ 
hanced by dangers encountered and surmounted. In the 
lion-hearted King, the brilliant, but useless, character of 
a knight of romance was in a great measure realised and 



IVANHOE. 


453 


revived; and the personal glory which he acquired by 
his own deeds of arms was far more dear to his excited 
imagination than that which a course of policy and wis¬ 
dom would have spread around his government. Accord¬ 
ingly, his reign was like the course of a brilliant and 
rapid meteor, which shoots along the face of heaven, 
shedding around an unnecessary and portentous light, 
which is instantly swallowed up by universal darkness; 
his feats of chivalry furnishing themes for bards and 
minstrels, but affording none of those solid benefits to his 
country on which history loves to pause, and hold up as 
an example to posterity. But in his present company 
Bichard showed to the greatest imaginable advantage. 
He was gay, good-humoured, and fond of manhood in 
every rank of life. 

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was hastily 
prepared for the King of England, surrounded by men 
outlaws to his government, but who now formed his court 
and his guard. As the flagon went round, the rough 
foresters soon lost their awe for the presence of Majesty. 
The song and the jest were exchanged, the stories of 
former deeds were told with advantage; and at length, 
and while boasting of their successful infraction of the 
laws, no one recollected they were speaking in presence 
of their natural guardian. The merry King, nothing 
heeding his dignity any more than his company, laughed, 
quaffed, and jested among the jolly band. The natural 
and rough sense of Bobin Hood led him to be desirous 
that the scene should be closed ere anything should occur 
to disturb its harmony, the more especially that he 
observed Ivanhoe’s brow clouded with anxiety. “We 
are honoured/’ he said to Ivanhoe, apart, “ by the pres¬ 
ence of our gallant sovereign; _ yet I would not that he 
dallied with time which the circumstances of his king¬ 
dom may render precious.” 

“It is well and wisely spoken, brave Bobin Hood,” 
said Wilfred, apart; “and know, moreover, that they 
who jest with Majesty, even in its gayest mood, are but 
toying with the lion’s whelp, which, on slight provoca¬ 
tion, uses both fangs and claws.” 


454 


IVANHOE. 


“You have touched the very cause of my fear, 7 ’ said 
the outlaw. “ My men are rough by practice and nature; 
the King is hasty as well as good-humoured; nor know 
I how soon cause of offence may arise, or how warmly it 
may be received — it is time this revel were broken off . 77 

“ It must be by your management then, gallant yeo¬ 
man , 77 said Ivanhoe; “ for each hint I have essayed to 
give him serves only to induce him to prolong it . 77 

“ Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my sover¬ 
eign ? 77 said Robin Hood, pausing for an instant; “ but, 
by St. Christopher, it shall be so. I were undeserving his 
grace did I not peril it for his good. — Here, Scathlock, 
get thee behind yonder thicket, and wind me a Norman 
blast on thy bugle, and without an instant’s delay, on 
peril of your life . 77 

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than five 
minutes the revellers were startled by the sound of his 
horn. 

“ It is the bugle of Malvoisin , 77 said the Miller, start¬ 
ing to his feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped 
the flagon, and grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba stopt 
short in the midst of a jest, and betook himself to sword 
and target. All the others stood to their weapons. 

Men of their precarious course of life change readily 
from the banquet to the battle; and to Richard the ex- 
change seemed but a succession of pleasure. He called 
for his helmet and the most cumbrous parts of his 
armour, which he had laid aside; and while Gurth was 
putting them on, he laid his strict injunctions on Wil¬ 
fred, under pain of his highest displeasure, not to engage 
in the skirmish which he supposed was approaching. 

“ Thou hast fought for me an hundred times, Wilfred, 
and I have seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and see 
how Richard will fight for his friend and liegeman . 77 

In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off several of 
his followers in different directions, as if to reconnoitre 
the enemy; and when he saw the company effectually 
broken up, he approached Richard, who was now com¬ 
pletely armed, and, kneeling down on one knee, craved 
pardon of his sovereign. 


IVANHOE. 


455 


(i For what, good yeoman ? ” said Richard, somewhat 
impatiently. “ Have we not already granted thee a full 
pardon for all transgressions ? Thinkest thou our word 
is a feather, to be blown backward and forward between 
us ? Thou canst not have time to commit any new offence 
since that time ? ” 

“ Ay, but I have though,” answered the yeoman, “ if it 
be an offence to deceive my prince for his own advantage. 
The bugle yon have heard was none of Malvoisin’s, but 
blown by my direction, to break off the banquet, lest it 
trenched upon hours of dearer import than to be thus 
dallied with.” 

He then rose from his knee, folded his arms on his 
bosom, and, in a manner rather respectful than submis¬ 
sive awaited the answer of the King, like one who is 
conscious he may have given offence, yet is confident in 
the rectitude of his motive. The blood rushed in anger to 
the countenance of Richard; but it was the first transient 
emotion, and his sense of justice instantly subdued it. 

“The King of Sherwood,” he said, “grudges his venison 
and his wine-flask to the King of England ! It is well, 
bold Robin! but when you come to see me in merry Lon¬ 
don, I trust to be a less niggard host. Thou art right, 
however, good fellow. Let us therefore to horse and 
away. Wilfred has been impatient this hour.—Tell me, 
bold Robin, hast thou never a friend in thy band, who, 
not content with advising, will needs direct thy motions 
and look miserable when thou dost presume to act for 
thyself ? ” 

“ Such a one,” said Robin, “ is my lieutenant, Little 
John, who is even now absent on an expedition as far as 
the borders of Scotland; and I will own to your Majesty 
that I am sometimes displeased by the freedom of his 
counsels; but, when I think twice, I cannot be long angry 
with one who can have no motive for his anxiety save 
zeal for his master’s service.” 

“Thou art right, good yeoman,” answered Richard; 
“ and if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave 
advice, and recommend it by the sad gravity of his brow, 
and thee, on the other, to trick me into what thou think* 


456 


IVANHOE. 


est my own good, I should have as little the freedom of 
mine own will as any king in Christendom or Heathenesse. 
— But come, sirs, let us merrily on to Coningsburgh, 
and think no more on’t.” 

Robin Hood assured them that he had detached a party 
in the direction of the road they were to pass, who would 
not fail to discover and apprise them of any secret 
ambuscade; and that he had little doubt they would find 
the ways secure, or, if otherwise, would receive such 
timely notice of the danger as would enable them to fall 
back on a strong troop of archers, with which he himself 
proposed to follow on the same route. 

The wise and attentive precautions adopted for his 
safety touched Richard’s feelings, and removed any slight 
grudge which he might retain on account of the deception 
the outlaw captain had practised upon him. He once 
more extended his hand to Robin Hood, assured him of 
his full pardon and future favour, as well as his firm 
resolution to restrain the tyrannical exercise of the forest 
rights and other oppressive laws, by which so many 
English yeomen were driven into a state of rebellion. 
But Richard’s good intentions towards the bold outlaw 
were frustrated by the King’s untimely death; and the 
Charter of the Forest was extorted from the unwilling 
hands of King John when he succeeded to his heroic 
brother. As for the rest of Robin Hood’s career, as well 
as the tale of his treacherous death, they are to be found 
in those black-letter garlands, once sold at The low and 
easy rate of one half-penny — 

“ Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold.” 

The outlaw’s opinion proved true ; and the King, at¬ 
tended by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived without 
any interruption within view of the Castle of Conings¬ 
burgh, while the sun was yet in the horizon. 

There are few more beautiful or striking scenes in 
England than are presented by the vicinity of this ancient 
Saxon fortress. The soft and gentle river Don sweeps 
through an amphitheatre, in which cultivation is richly 
blended with woodland, and on a mount ascending from 


IVANHOE. 


457 


the river, well defended by walls and ditches, rises this 
ancient edifice, which, as its Saxon name implies, was, 
previous to the Conquest, a royal residence of the kings 
of England. The outer walls have probably been added 
by the Normans, but the inner keep bears token of a very 
great antiquity. It is situated on a mount at one angle 
of the inner court, and forms a complete circle of perhaps 
twenty-five feet in diameter. The wall is of immense 
thickness, and is propped or defended by six huge exter¬ 
nal buttresses, which project from the circle, and rise up 
against the sides of the tower as if to strengthen or to 
support it. These massive buttresses are solid when they 
arise from the foundation, and a good way higher up ; 
but are hollowed out towards the top, and terminate in a 
sort of turrets communicating with the interior of the 
keep itself. The distant appearance of this huge build¬ 
ing, with these singular accompaniments, is as interesting 
to the lovers of the picturesque as the interior of the 
castlQ is to the eager antiquary, whose imagination it car¬ 
ries back to the days of the Heptarchy. A barrow, in 
the vicinity of the castle, is pointed out as the tomb of 
the memorable Hengist; and various monuments, of great 
antiquity and curiosity, are shown in the neighbouring 
churchyard. 

When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this 
rude yet stately building, it was not, as at present, sur¬ 
rounded by external fortifications. The Saxon architect 
had exhausted his art in rendering the main keep defensi¬ 
ble, and there was no other circumvallation than a rude 
barrier of palisades. 

A huge black banner, which floated from the top of 
the tower, announced that the obsequies of the late owner 
were still in the act of being solemnised. It bore no em¬ 
blem of the deceased’s birth or quality, for armorial bear¬ 
ings were then a novelty among the Norman chivalry 
themselves, and were totally unknown to the Saxons. 
But above the gate was another banner, on which the 
figure of a white horse, rudely painted, indicated the na- 
tion and rank of the deceased, by the well-known symbol 
of Hengist and his Saxon warriors. 


458 


IVANHOE. 


All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion; 
for such funeral banquets were times of general and pro¬ 
fuse hospitality, which not only every one who could 
claim the most distant connexion with the deceased, but 
all passengers whatsoever, were invited to partake. The 
wealth and consequence of the deceased Athelstane oc¬ 
casioned this custom to be observed in the fullest extent. 

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and 
descending the hill on which the castle was situated; 
and when the King and his attendants entered the open 
and unguarded gates of the external barrier, the space 
within presented a scene not easily reconciled with the 
cause of the assemblage. In one place cooks were toiling 
to roast huge oxen and fat sheep ; in another, hogsheads 
of ale were set abroach, to be drained at the freedom of 
all comers. Groups of every description were to be seen 
devouring the food and swallowing the liquor thus aban¬ 
doned to their discretion. The naked Saxon serf was 
drowning the sense of his half-year’s hunger and jthirst 
in one day of gluttony and drunkenness; the more pam¬ 
pered burgess and guild-brother was eating his morsel 
with gust, or curiously criticising the quantity of the 
malt and the skill of the brewer. Some few of the poorer 
Norman gentry might also be seen, distinguished by 
their shaven chins and short cloaks, and not less so by 
their keeping together, and looking with great scorn on, 
the whole solemnity, even while condescending to avail 
themselves of the good cheer which was so liberally sup 
plied. 

Mendicants were, of course, assembled by the score, 
together with strolling soldiers returned from Palestine 
(according to their own account at least); pedlars were 
displaying their wares; travelling mechanics were inquir¬ 
ing after employment; and wandering palmers, hedge- 
priests, Saxon minstrels, and Welsh bards were mutter¬ 
ing prayers, and extracting mistuned. dirges from their 
harps, crowds, and rotes. One sent forth the praises 
of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric; another, in a Saxon 
genealogical poem, rehearsed the uncouth and harsh names 
of his noble ancestry. Jesters and jugglers were not 


IVANHOE. 


45S 


wanting, nor was the occasion of the assembly supposed 
to render the exercise of their profession indecorous or 
improper. Indeed, the ideas of the Saxons on these oc¬ 
casions were as natural as they were rude. If sorrow was 
thirsty, there was drink—if hungry, there was food—if 
it sunk down upon and saddened the heart, here were the 
means supplied of mirth, or at least of amusement. Nor 
did the assistants scorn to avail themselves of those 
means of consolation, although, every now and then, as 
if suddenly recollecting the cause which had brought 
them together, the men groaned in unison, while the fe¬ 
males, of whom many were present, raised up their voices 
and shrieked for very woe. 

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburgh 
when it was entered by Richard and his followers. The 
seneschal or steward deigned not to take notice of the 
groups of inferior guests who were perpetually entering 
and withdrawing, unless so far as was necessary to pre¬ 
serve order; nevertheless, he was struck by the good 
mien of the Monarch and Ivanhoe, more especially as 
he imagined the features of the latter were familiar to 
him. Besides, the approach of two knights, for such 
their dress bespoke them, was a rare event at a Saxon 
solemnity, and could not but be regarded as a sort of 
honour to the deceased and his family. And in his sable 
dress, and holding in his hand his white wand of office, 
this important personage made way through the miscel¬ 
laneous assemblage of guests, thus conducting Richard 
and Ivanhoe to the entrance of the tower. Gurth and 
Wamba speedily found acquaintances in the court-yard, 
nor presumed to intrude themselves any farther until 
their presence should be required. 


460 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTEE XLII. 

I found them winding of Marcello’s corpse. 

And there was such a solemn melody, 

’Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies, — 

Such as old grandames, watching by the dead, 

Are wont to outwear the night with. 

Old Play. 

The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsburgh 
Castle is very peculiar, and partakes of the rude simplic¬ 
ity of the early times in which it was erected. A flight 
of steps, so deep and narrow as to be almost precipitous, 
leads up to a low portal in the south side of the tower, by 
which the adventurous antiquary may still, or at least 
could a few years since, gain access to a small stair 
within the thickness of the main wall of the tower, 
which leads up to the third story of the building 
the two lower being dungeons or vaults, which neither 
receive air nor light, save by a square hole in the third 
story, with which they seem to have communicated by 
a ladder. The access to the upper apartments in the 
tower, which consist in all of four stories, is given by 
stairs which are carried up through the external but¬ 
tresses. 

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good King 
Kichard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was ushered 
into the round apartment which occupies the whole of the 
third story from the ground. Wilfred, by the difficulties 
of the ascent, gained time to muffle his face in his mantle, 
as it had been held expedient that he should not present 
himself to his father until the King should give him the 
signal. 

There were assembled in this apartment, around a large 
oaken table, about a dozen of the most distinguished rep¬ 
resentatives of the Saxon families in the adjacent counties. 
These were all old, or at least elderly, men; for the younger 
race, to the great displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivan¬ 
hoe, broken down many of the barriers which separated 
for half a century the Norman victors from the vanquished 


IVANHOE . 


461 


Saxons. The downcast and sorrowful looks of these vener¬ 
able men, their silence and their mournful posture, formed 
a strong contrast to the levity of the revellers on the out¬ 
side, of the castle. Their grey locks and long full beards, 
together with their antique tunics and loose black man¬ 
tles, suited well with the singular and rude apartment in 
which they were seated, and gave the appearance of a 
band of ancient worshippers of Woden, recalled to life to 
mourn over the decay of their national glory. 

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, 
seemed yet, by common consent, to act as chief of the 
assembly. Upon the entrance of Richard (only known 
to him as the valorous Knight of the Fetterlock) he arose 
gravely, and gave him welcome by the ordinary saluta¬ 
tion, Waes hael, raising at the same time a goblet to his 
head. The King, no stranger to the customs of his Eng¬ 
lish subjects, returned the greeting with the appropriate 
words, brine hael , and partook of a cup which was handed 
to him by the sewer. The same courtesy was offered to 
Ivanhoe, who pledged his father in silence, supplying the 
usual speech by an inclination of his head, lest his voice 
should have been recognised. 

When this introductory ceremony was performed, Ced¬ 
ric arose, and, extending his hand to Richard, conducted 
him into a small and very rude chapel, which was exca¬ 
vated, as it were, out of one of the external buttresses. 
As there was no opening, saving a very narrow loophole, 
the place would have been nearly quite dark but for two 
flambeaux or torches, which showed, by a red and smoky 
light, the arched roof and naked walls, the rude altar of 
stone, and the crucifix of the same material. 

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side 
of this bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads, 
and muttered their prayers, with the greatest signs of 
external devotion. For this service a splendid soul-scat 
was paid to the convent of St. Edmund’s by the mother 
of the deceased; and, that it might be fully deserved, 
the whole brethren, saving the lame Sacristan, had trans¬ 
ferred themselves to Coningsburgh, where, while six of 
their number were constantly on guard in the perform- 


462 


IVANHOE. 


ance of divine rites by the bier of Athelstane, the others 
failed not to take their share of the refreshments and 
amusements which went on at the castle. In maintain- 
ing this pious watch and ward, the good monks were 
particularly careful not to interrupt their hymns for an 
instant, lest Zernebock, the ancient Saxon Apollyon, 
should lay his clutches on the departed Athelstane. 
Nor were they less careful to prevent any unhallowed 
layman from touching the pall, which having been that 
used at the funeral of St. Edmund, was liable to be dese¬ 
crated if handled by the profane. If, in truth, these at¬ 
tentions could be of any use to the deceased, he had 
some right to expect them at the hands of the brethren 
of St. Edmund’s, since, besides a hundred mancuses of 
gold paid down as the soul-ransom, the mother of Athel¬ 
stane had announced her intention of endowing that 
foundation with the better part of the lands of the de¬ 
ceased, in order to maintain perpetual prayers for his 
soul and that of her departed husband. 

Richard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into 
the apartment of death, where, as their guide pointed 
with solemn air to the untimely bier of Athelstane, they 
followed his example in devoutly crossing themselves, 
and muttering a brief prayer for the weal of the departed 
soul. 

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again mo¬ 
tioned them to follow him, gliding over the stone floor 
with a noiseless tread; and, after ascending a few steps, 
opened with great caution the door of a small oratory, 
which adjoined to the chapel. It was about eight feet 
square, hollowed, like the chapel itself, out of the thick¬ 
ness of the wall; and the loophole which enlightened it 
being to the west, and widening considerably as it sloped 
inward, a beam of the setting sun found its way into its 
dark recess, and showed a female of a dignified mien, 
and whose countenance retained the marked remains of 
majestic beauty. Her long mourning robes, and her flow¬ 
ing wimple of black cypress, enhanced the whiteness of 
her skin, and the beauty of her light-coloured and flow¬ 
ing tresses, which time had neither thinned nor mingled 


IVANHOE. 


463 


with silver. Her countenance expressed the deepest sor¬ 
row that is consistent with resignation. On the stone 
table before her stood a crucifix of ivory, beside which 
was laid a missal, having its pages richly illuminated, 
and its boards adorned with clasps of gold and bosses of 
the same precious metal. 

“Noble Edith,” said Cedric, after having stood a mo¬ 
ment silent, as if to give Richard and Wilfred time to 
look upon the lady of the mansion, “these are worthy 
strangers come to take a part in thy sorrows. And this, 
in especial, is the valiant knight who fought so bravely 
for the deliverance of him for wh6m we this day mourn.” 

“His bravery has my thanks,” returned the lady; “al¬ 
though it be the will of Heaven that it should be dis¬ 
played in vain. I thank, too, his courtesy, and that of 
his companion, which hath brought them hither to be¬ 
hold the widow of Adeling, the mother of Athelstane, 
in her deep hour of sorrow and lamentation. To your 
care, kind kinsman, I entrust them, satisfied that they 
will want no hospitality which these sad walls can yet 
afford.” 

The guests bowed deeply to tlie mourning parent, and 
withdrew with their hospitable guide. 

Another winding stair conducted them to an apart¬ 
ment of the same size with that which they had first 
entered, occupying, indeed, the story immediately above. 
From this room, ere yet the door was opened, proceeded 
a low and melancholy strain of vocal music. When 
they entered, they found themselves in the presence of 
about twenty matrons and maidens of distinguished 
Saxon lineage. Four maidens, Rowena leading the 
choir, raised a hymn for the soul of the deceased, of 
which we have only been able to decipher two or three 
stanzas: 

Dust unto dust, 

To this all must. 

The tenant hath resign’d 
The faded form 
To waste and worm : 

Corruption claims her kind. 


464 


IVANHOE. 


Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of woe, 

Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 
Of actions done below. 

In that sad place, 

By Mary’s grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be ! 

Till prayers and alms, 

And holy psalms, 

Shall set the captive free. 

While this dirge was sung, in a low and melancholy 
tone, by the female choristers, the others were divided 
into two bands, of which one was engaged in bedecking, 
with such embroidery as their skill and taste could com¬ 
pass, a large silken pall, destined to cover the bier of 
Athelstane, while the others busied themselves in se¬ 
lecting, from baskets of flowers placed before them, 
garlands, which they intended for the same mournful 
purpose. The behaviour of the maidens was decorous, if 
not marked with deep * affliction; but now and then a 
whisper or a smile called forth the rebuke of the severer 
matrons, and here and there might be seen a damsel 
more interested in endeavouring to find out how her 
mourning-robe became her, than in the dismal ceremony 
for which they were preparing. Neither was this pro¬ 
pensity (if we must needs confess the truth) at all dimin¬ 
ished by the appearance of two strange knights, which 
occasioned some looking up, peeping, and whispering. 
Rowena alone, too proud to be vain, paid her greeting to 
her deliverer with a graceful courtesy. Her demeanour 
was serious, but not dejected; and it may be doubted 
whether,thoughts of Ivanhoe, and the uncertainty o.f his 
fate, did not claim as great a share in her gravity as the 
death of her kinsman. 

To Cedric, who, however, as we have observed, was 
not remarkably clear-sighted on such occasions, the sor¬ 
row of his ward seemed so much deeper than any of the 
other maidens that he deemed it proper to whisper the 


IVANHOE. 


465 


explanation, — “ She was the affianced bride of the noble 
Athelstane.”—It may be doubted whether this communi¬ 
cation went a far way to increase Wilfred’s disposition to 
sympathise with the mourners of Coningsburgh. 

Having thus formally introduced the guests to the dif¬ 
ferent chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane 
were celebrated under different forms, Cedric conducted 
them into a small room, destined, as he informed them, 
for the exclusive accommodation of honourable guests, 
whose more slight connexion with the deceased might 
render them unwilling to join those who were immedi¬ 
ately affected by the unhappy event. He assured them 
of every accommodation, and was about to withdraw when 
the Black Knight took his hand. 

u I crave to remind you, noble thane,” he said, “ that 
when we last parted you promised, for the service I had 
the fortune to render you, to grant me a boon.” 

“ It is granted ere named, noble Knight,” said Cedric; 
“ yet, at this sad moment-” 

u Of that also,” said the King, “ I have bethought me; 
but my time is brief; neither does it seem to me unfit 
that, when closing the grave on the noble Athelstane, 
we should deposit therein certain prejudices and hasty 
opinions.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,” said Cedric, colouring, 
and interrupting the King in his turn, “I trust your 
boon regards yourself and no other; for in that which 
concerns the honour of my house, it is scarce fitting that 
a stranger should mingle.” 

“Hor do I wish to mingle,” said the King, mildly, 
« unless in so far as you will admit me to have an inter¬ 
est. As yet you have known me but as the Black Knight 
of the Fetterlock. — Know me now as Kichard Plan- 
tagenet.” 

“Kichard of Anjou! ” exclaimed Cedric, stepping back¬ 
ward with the utmost astonishment. 

“ Ho, noble Cedric — Kichard of England ! whose deep¬ 
est interest—whose deepest wish, is to see her sons 
united with each other. And how now, worthy thane 1 
hast thou no knee for thy prince ? ” 

2 H 



466 


IVANHOE. 


“To Norman blood,” said Cedric, “it hath never 
bended.” 

“ Reserve thine homage then,” said the Monarch, “ until 
I shall prove my right to it by my equal protection of 
Normans and English.” 

“ Prince,” answered Cedric, “ I have ever done justice to 
thy bravery and thy worth. Nor am I ignorant of thy 
claim to the crown through thy descent from Matilda, 
niece to Edgar Atheling, and daughter to Malcolm of 
Scotland. But Matilda, though of the royal Saxon 
blood, was not the heir to the monarchy.” 

“ I will not dispute my title with thee, noble thane,” 
said Richard, calmly; “ but I will bid thee look around 
thee, and see where thou wilt find another to be put into 
the scale against it.” 

“And hast thou wandered hither, Prince, to tell me 
so ? ” said Cedric — “ to upbraid me with the ruin of my 
race, ere the grave has closed o’er the last scion of Saxon 
royalty ? ” His countenance darkened as he spoke. 
“ It was boldly — it was rashly done ! ” 

“ Not so, by the holy rood ! ” replied the King; “ it w r as 
done in the frank confidence which one brave man ma}/ 
repose in another, without a shadow of danger.” 

“ Thou sayest well, Sir King — for King I own thou 
art, and wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition. I dare 
not take the only mode to prevent it, though thou hast 
placed the strong temptation within my reach! ” 

“ And now to my boon,” said the King, “ which I ask 
not with one jot the less confidence, that thou hast refused 
to acknowledge my lawful sovereignty. I require of thee, 
as a man of thy word, on pain of being held faithless, 
man-sworn, and nidering, to forgive and receive to thy 
paternal affection the good knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 
In this reconciliation thou wilt own I have an interest —• 
the happiness of my friend, and the quelling of dissension 
among my faithful people.” 

“And this is Wilfred!” said Cedric, pointing to his 
son. 

“ My father ! — my father! ” said Ivanhoe, prostrating 
himself at Cedric’s feet, “ grant me thy forgiveness 1 









































































. 































































* 



















. 


IVANHOE. 


467 


“Thou hast it, my son,” said Cedric, raising him up. 
“The son of Hereward knows how to keep his word, even 
when it has been passed to a Norman. But let me see 
thee use the dress and costume of thy English ancestry: 
no short cloaks, no gay bonnets, no fantastic plumage in 
my decent household. He that would be the son of Cedric 
must show himself of English ancestry. Thou art about 
to speak,” he added, sternly, “and I guess the topic. 
The Lady Rowena must complete two years’ mourning, 
as for a betrothed husband — all our Saxon ancestors 
would disown us were we to treat of a new union for her 
ere the grave of him she should have wedded — him so 
much the most worthy of her hand by birth and ancestry 
—is yet closed. The ghost of Athelstane himself would 
burst his bloody cerements, and stand before us to forbid 
such dishonour to his memory.” 

It seemed as if Cedric’s words had raised a spectre; for 
scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and 
Athelstane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood 
before them, pale, haggard, and like something arisen 
from the dead! 

The effect of this apparition on the persons present 
was utterly appalling. Cedric started back as far as the 
wall of the apartment would permit, and, leaning against 
it as one unable to support himself, gazed on the figure 
of his friend with eyes that seemed fixed, and a mouth 
which he appeared incapable of shutting. Ivanhoe crossed 
himself, repeating prayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman- 
French, as they occurred to his memory, while Richard 
alternately said “ Benedicite ,” and swore, “ Mort de ma vie /” 

In the meantime a horrible noise was heard below 
stairs, some crying, “ Secure the treacherous monks ! ” — 
others, “ Down with them into the dungeon! ” — others, 
“ Pitch them from the highest battlements ! ” 

“ In the name of God! ” said Cedric, addressing what 
seemed the spectre of his departed friend, “if thou art 
mortal, speak ! — if a departed spirit, say for what cause 
thou dost revisit us, or if I can do aught that cafi set 
thy spirit at repose. — Living or dead, noble Athelstane, 
speak to Cedric! ” 


468 


IVAN HOE. 


“ I will,” said the spectre, very composedly, u when 1 
have collected breath, and when yon give me time. —■ 
Alive, saidst thou? I am as much alive as he can be 
who has fed on bread and water for three days, which 
seem three ages. — Yes, bread and water, father Cedric! 
By Heaven, and all saints in it, better food hath not 
passed my weasand for three livelong days, and by God’s 
providence it is that I am now here to tell it.” 

“Why, noble Athelstane,” said the Black Knight, “1 
myself saw you struck down by the fierce Templar 
towards the end of the storm at Torquilstone, and, as I 
thought, and Wamba reported, your skull was cloven 
through the teeth.” 

“You thought amiss, Sir Knight,” said Athelstane, 
“ and Wamba lied. My teeth are in good order, and that 
my supper shall presently find. Ko thanks to the Tem¬ 
plar though, whose sword turned in his hand, so that the 
blade struck me flattings, being averted by the handle of 
the good mace with which I warded the blow; had my 
steel-cap been on, I had not valued it a rush, and had 
dealt him such a counterbuff as would have spoilt his 
retreat. But as it was, down I went, stunned, indeed, 
but unwounded. Others, of both sides, were beaten down 
and slaughtered above me, so that I never recovered my 
senses until I found myself in a coffin —- an open one, by 
good luck ! — placed before the altar of the church of St. 
Edmund’s. I sneezed repeatedly — groaned — awakened, 
and would have arisen, when the Sacristan and Abbot, 
full of terror, came running at the noise, surprised, doubt¬ 
less, and no way pleased, to find the man alive whose 
heirs they had proposed themselves to be. I asked for 
wine — they gave me some, but it must have been highly 
medicated, for I slept yet more deeply than before, and 
wakened not for many hours. I found my arms swathed 
down, my feet tied so fast that mine ankles ache at 
the very remembrance; the place was utterly dark — the 
oubliette, as I suppose, of their accursed convent, and 
from*the close, stifled, damp smell I conceive it is also 
used for a place of sepulture. I had strange thoughts 
of what had befallen me, when the door of my dun- 


IVANHOE. 


469 


geon creaked, and two villain monks entered. They 
would have persuaded me I was in purgatory, but I knew 
too well the pursy, short-breathed voice of the Father 
Abbot. — St. Jeremy ! how different from that tone with 
which he used to ask me for another slice of the haunch! — 
the dog has feasted with me from Christmas to Twelfth 
Night. 7 ’ 

“ Have patience, noble Athelstane, 77 said the King, 
“take breath—tell your story at leisure; beshrew me but 
such a tale is as well worth listening to as a romance. 77 

“Ay, but, by the rood of Bromholme, there was no 
romance in the matter! 77 said Athelstane. “A barley 
loaf and a pitcher of water — that they gave me, the nig¬ 
gardly traitors, whom my father, and’ I myself, had en¬ 
riched, when their best resources were the flitches of 
bacon and measures of corn out of which they wheedled 
poor serfs and bondsmen, in exchange for their prayers. 
The nest of foul, ungrateful vipers—barley bread and 
ditch water to such a patron as I had been ! I will smoke 
them out of their nest, though I be excommunicated! 77 

“But, in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane, 77 
said Cedric, grasping the hand of his friend, “ how didst 
thou escape this imminent danger ? did their hearts 
relent ? 77 

“Did their hearts relent! 77 echoed Athelstane. “Do^ 
rocks melt with the sun ? I should have been there still, 
had not some stir in the convent, which I find was their 
procession hitherward to eat my funeral feast, when they 
well knew how and where I had been buried alive, sum¬ 
moned the swarm out of their hive. I heard them dron¬ 
ing out their death-psalms, little judging they were sung" 
in respect for my soul by those who were thus famishing 
my body. They went, however, and I waited long for 
food; no wonder — the gouty Sacristan was even too busy 
with his own provender to mind mine. At length down; 
he came, with an unstable step and a strong flavour of 
wine and spices about his person. Good cheer had opened: 
his heart, for he left me a nook of pasty and a flask of 
wine instead of my former fare. I ate, drank, and was; 
invigorated; when, to add to my good luck, the Sacristan, 


470 


IVANHOE. 


too totty to discharge his duty of turnkey fitly, locked 
the door beside the staple, so that it fell ajar. The light, 
the food, the wine set my invention to work. The staple 
to which my chains were fixed was more rusted than I or 
the villain Abbot had supposed. Even iron could not re¬ 
main without consuming in the damps of that infernal 
dungeon.” 

“ Take breath, noble Athelstane,” said Richard, “ and 
partake of some refreshment, ere you proceed with a tale 
so dreadful.” 

“ Partake ! ” quoth Athelstane. “ I have been partak¬ 
ing five times to-day; and yet a morsel of that savoury 
ham were not altogether foreign to the matter; and I 
pray you, fair sir, to do me reason in a cup of wine.” 

The guests, though still agape with astonishment, 
pledged their resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded 
in his story. He had indeed now many more auditors 
than those to whom it was commenced, for Edith, having 
given certain necessary orders for arranging matters 
within the castle, had followed the dead-alive up to the 
strangers’ apartment, attended by as many of the guests, 
male and female, as could squeeze into the small room, 
while others, crowding the staircase, caught up an erro¬ 
neous edition of the story, and transmitted it still more 
inaccurately to those beneath, who again sent it forth to 
the vulgar without, in a fashion totally irreconcilable to 
the real fact. Althelstane, however, went on as follows 
with the history of his escape : 

“ Finding myself freed from the staple, I dragged 
myself upstairs as well as a man loaded with shackles, 
and emaciated with fasting, might; and after much grop¬ 
ing about, I was at length directed, by the sound of a 
jolly roundelay, to the apartment where the worthy Sac¬ 
ristan, an it please ye, was holding a devil’s mass with 
a huge beetle-browed, broad-shouldered brother of the 
grey-frock and cowl, who looked much more like a thief 
than a clergyman. I burst in upon them, and the fashion 
of my grave-clothes, as well as the clanking of my chains 
made me more resemble an inhabitant of the other world 
than of this. Both stood aghast; but when I knocked 


IVANHOE. 


471 


down the Sacristan with my fist, the other fellow, his pot- 
companion, fetched a blow at me with a huge quarter- 
staff.” 

“ This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count’s ransom,” 
said Richard, looking at Ivanhoe. 

“He may be the devil, an he will,” said Athelstane. 
“ Fortunately, he missed the aim; and on my approaching 
to grapple with him, took to his heels and ran for it. I 
failed not to set my own heels at liberty by means of the 
fetter-key, which hung amongst others at the sexton's 
belt; and I had thoughts of beating out the knave’s 
brains with the bunch of keys, but gratitude for the nook 
of pasty and the flask of wine which the rascal had im¬ 
parted to my captivity came over my heart; so, with a 
brace of hearty kicks, I left him on the floor, pouched 
some baked meat and a leathern bottle of wine, with 
which the two venerable brethren had been regaling, went 
to the stable and found in a private stall mine own best 
palfrey, which, doubtless, had been set apart for the holy 
Father Abbot’s particular use. Hither I came with al] 
the speed the beast could compass — man and mother’s 
son flying before me wherever I came, taking me for a 
spectre, the more especially as, to prevent my being 
recognised, I drew the corpse-hood over my face. I had 
not gained admittance into my own castle, had I not 
been supposed to be the attendant of a juggler who is 
making the people in the castle-yard very merry, consid¬ 
ering they are assembled to celebrate their lord’s funeral. 
I say the sewer thought I was dressed to bear a part in 
the tregetour’s mummery, and so I got admission, and J 
did but disclose myself to my mother, and eat a hasty 
morsel, ere I came in quest of you, my noble friend.” 

“And you have found me,” said Cedric, “ready to re¬ 
sume our brave projects of honour and liberty. I tell 
thee, never will dawn a morrow so auspicious as the next, 
for the deliverance of the noble Saxon race.” 

“ Talk not to me of delivering any one,” said Athel¬ 
stane ; “ it is well I am delivered myself. I am more intent 
on punishing that villain Abbot. He shall hang on the 
top of this Castle of Coningsburgh, in his cope and stole j 


472 


1VANH0E. 


and if the stairs be too strait to admit his fat carcass, I 
will have him craned up from without.” 

“ But, my son,” said Edith, “ consider his sacred office.” 

« Consider my three days’ fast,” replied Athelstane-, 
“I will have their blood every one of them. Front-de- 
Boeuf was burnt alive for a less matter, for he kept a good 
table for his prisoners, only put too much garlic in his 
last dish of pottage. But these hypocritical, ungrateful 
slaves, so often the self-invited flatterers at my board, who 
gave me neither pottage nor garlic, more or less—they 
die, by the soul of Hengist! ” 

“ But the Pope, my noble friend,” said Cedric-- 

“ But the devil, my noble friend,” answered Athelstane ; 
“they die, and no more of them. Were they the best 
monks upon earth, the world would go on without them.” 

“For shame, noble Athelstane,” said Cedric; “forget 
such wretches in the career of glory which lies open 
before thee. Tell this Norman prince, Richard of Anjou, 
that, lion-hearted as he is, he shall not hold undisputed 
the throne of Alfred, while a male descendant of the 
Holy Confessor lives to dispute it.” 

“How!” said Athelstane, “is this the noble King 
Richard ? ” 

“ It is Richard Plantagenet himself,” said Cedric; “ yst 
I need not remind thee that, coming hither a guest of 
free-will, he may neither be injured nor detained prisoner 
— thou well knowest thy duty to him as his host.” 

“ Ay, by my faith! ” said Athelstane; “ and my duty 
as a subject besides, for I here tender him my allegiance, 
heart and hand.” 

“ My son,” said Edith, “ think on thy royal rights! ” 

“ Think on the freedom of England, degenerate prince! ” 
said Cedric. 

“ Mother and friend,” said Athelstane, “ a truce to your 
upbraidings! Bread and water and a dungeon are marvel¬ 
lous mortifiers of ambition, and I rise from the tomb a 
wiser man than I descended into it. One half of those 
vain follies were puffed into mine ear by that perfidious 
Abbot Wolfram, and you may now judge if he is a counsel¬ 
lor to be trusted. Since these plots were set in agitation, 1 


IVAN HOE. 


473 


have had nothing but hurried journeys, indigestions, blows 
and bruises, imprisonments, and starvation; besides that 
they can only end in the murder of some thousands of 
quiet folk. I tell you, I will be king in my own domains, 
and nowhere else; and my first act of dominion shall be 
to hang the Abbot.” 

“ And my ward Rowena,” said Cedric — “ I trust you 
intend not to desert her ? ” 

“ Father Cedric,” said Athelstane, “ be reasonable. The 
Lady Rowena cares not for me; she loves the little finger 
of my kinsman Wilfred’s glove better than my whole per¬ 
son. There she stands to avouch it. — Nay, blush not, 
kinswoman; there is no shame in loving a courtly knight 
better than a country franklin; and do not laugh neither, 
Rowena, for grave-clothes and a thin visage are, God knows, 
no matter of merriment. -—Nay, an thou wilt needs laugh, 
I will find thee a better jest. Give me thy hand, or 
rather lend it me, for I but ask it in the way of friend¬ 
ship. Here, cousin Wilfred of Ivanhoe, in thy favour I 

renounce and abjure- Hey! by St. Dunstan, our cousin 

Wilfred hath vanished! Yet, unless my eyes are still 
dazzled with the fasting I have undergone, I saw him 
stand there but even now.” 

All now looked around and inquired for Ivanhoe; but 
he had vanished. It was at length discovered that a Jew 
had been to seek him; and that, after very brief confer¬ 
ence, he had called for Gurth and his armour, and had 
left the castle. 

“ Fair cousin,” said Athelstane to Rowena, “ could I 
think that this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was 
occasioned by other than the weightiest reason, I would 
myself resume-” 

But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first observ¬ 
ing that Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Rowena, who had 
found her situation extremely embarrassing, had taken 
the first opportunity to escape from the apartment. 

“ Certainly,” quoth Athelstane, “ women are the least 
to be trusted of all animals, monks and abbots excepted. 
I am an infidel, if I expected not thanks from her, and 
perhaps a kiss to boot. These cursed grave-clothes have 




474 


IVAN HOE. 


surely a spell on them, every one flies from me. — To 
yon I turn, noble King Richard, with the vows of alle¬ 
giance, which, as a liege subject-” 

But King Richard was gone also, and no one knew 
whither. At length it was learned that he had hastened 
to the court-yard, summoned to his presence the Jew who 
had spoken with Ivanhoe, and, after a moment’s speech 
with him, had called vehemently to horse, thrown him¬ 
self upon a steed, compelled the Jew to mount another, 
and set off at a rate which, according to Wamba, rendered 
the old Jew’s neck not worth a penny’s purchase. 

“By my halidome!” said Athelstane, “it is certain 
that Zernebock hath possessed himself of my castle in 
my absence. I return in my grave-clothes, a pledge re¬ 
stored from the very sepulchre, and every one I speak to 
vanishes as soon as they hear my voice! But it skills 
not talking of it. Come, my friends, such of you as are 
left, follow me to the banquet-hall, lest any more of us 
disappear. It is, I trust, as yet tolerably furnished, as 
becomes the obsequies of an ancient Saxon noble; and 
should we tarry any longer, who knows but the devil 
may fly off with the supper ? ” 


CHAPTER XLIIL 

Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom, 

That they may break his foaming courser’s back, 

And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 

A caitiff recreant! Bichard II. 

Our scene now returns to the exterior of the Castle, or 
Preceptory, of Templestowe, about the hour when the 
bloody die was to be cast for the life or death of Rebecca. 
It was a scene of bustle and life, as if the whole vicinity 
had poured forth its inhabitants to a village wake or 
rural feast. But the earnest desire to look on blood and 
death is not peculiar to those dark ages; though, in the 
gladiatorial exercise of single combat and general tourney, 
they were habituated to the bloody spectacle of brave 



IVANHOE. 


475 


men falling by each other’s hands. Even in our own 
days, when morals are better understood, an execution, a 
bruising-match, a riot, or a meeting of radical reformers, 
collects, at considerable hazard to themselves, immense 
crowds of spectators, otherwise little interested, except 
to see how matters are to be conducted, or whether the 
heroes of the day are, in the heroic language of insurgent 
tailors, flints or dunghills. 

The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude 
were bent on the gate of the Preceptory of Templestowe, 
with the purpose of witnessing the procession; while still 
greater numbers had already surrounded the tiltyard 
belonging to that establishment. This inclosure was 
formed on a piece of level ground adjoining to the Pre¬ 
ceptory, which had been levelled with care, for the exer¬ 
cise of military and chivalrous sports. It occupied the 
brow of a soft and gentle eminence, was carefully pali¬ 
saded around, and, as the Templars willingly invited 
spectators to be witnesses of their skill in feats of 
chivalry, was amply supplied with galleries and benches 
for their use. 

On the present occasion, a throne was erected for the 
Grand Master at the east end, surrounded with seats of 
distinction for the Preceptors and Knights of the Order. 
Over these floated the sacred standard, called Le Beaw° 
seant, which was the ensign, as its name was the battle- 
cry, of the Templars. 

At the opposite end of the lists was a pile of faggots, 
so arranged around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground, 
as to leave a space for the victim whom they were des¬ 
tined to consume to enter within the fatal circle, in order 
to be chained to the stake by the fetters which hung 
ready for that purpose. Beside this deadly apparatus 
stood four black slaves, whose colour and African fea¬ 
tures, then so little known in England, appalled the 
multitude, who gazed on them as on demons employed 
about their own diabolical exercises. These men stirred 
not, excepting now and then, under the direction of one 
who seemed their chief, to shift and replace the ready 
fuel. They looked not on the multitude. In fact, they 


476 


IVANHOE. 


seemed insensible of their presence, and of everything 
save the discharge of their own horrible duty. And 
when, in speech with each other, they expanded their 
blubber lips, and showed their white fangs, as if they 
grinned at the thoughts of the expected tragedy, the 
startled commons could scarcely help believing that they 
were actually the familiar spirits with whom the witch 
had communed, and who, her time being out, stood ready 
to assist in her dreadful punishment. They whispered 
to each other, and communicated all the feats which 
Satan had performed during that busy and unhappy 
period, not failing, of course, to give the devil rather 
more than his due. 

“ Have you not heard, father Dennet,” quoth one boor 
to another advanced in years, “ that the devil has carried 
away bodily the great Saxon thane Athelstane of Con- 
ingsburgh ? ” 

“ Ay, but he brought him back, though, by the blessing 
of God and St. Dunstan.” 

“ How’s that ? ” said a brisk young fellow, dressed in 
a green cassock embroidered with gold, and having at 
his heels a stout lad bearing a harp upon his back, which 
betrayed his vocation. The Minstrel seemed of no vulgar 
rank; for, besides the splendour of his gaily broidered 
doublet, he wore round his neck a silver chain, by which 
hung the wrest or key, with which he tuned his harp. 
On his right arm was a silver plate, which, instead of 
bearing, as usual, the cognizance or badge of the baron 
to whose family he belonged, had barely the word Sher¬ 
wood engraved upon it. “ How mean you by that ? ” 
said the gay Minstrel, mingling in the conversation of 
the peasants; “I came to seek one subject for my 
rhyme, and, by’r Lady, I were glad to find two.” 

“ It was well avouched,” said the elder peasant, “ that 
after Athelstane of Coningsburgh had been dead four 
weeks-” 

“ That is impossible,” said the Minstrel; “ I saw him 
in life at the Passage of Arms at Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

“Dead, however, he was, or else translated,” said the 
younger peasant; “ for I heard the monks of St. Edmund’s 



IVANHOE. 


477 


Binging the death’s hymn for him; and, moreover, there 
was a rich death-meal and dole at the Castle of Conings- 
burgh, as right was; and thither had I gone, but for 
Mabel Parkins, who-” 

“ Ay, dead was Athelstane,” said the old man, shaking 
his head, “ and the more pity it was, for the old Saxon 
blood-” 

“ But, your story, my masters — your story,” said the 
Minstrel, somewhat impatiently. 

“ Ay, ay — construe us the story,” said a burly Friar, 
who stood beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited 
an. appearance between a pilgrim’s staff and a quarter- 
staff, and probably acted as either when occasion served 
— “ your story,” said the stalwart churchman. “Burn 
not daylight about it; we have short time to spare.” 

“ An please your reverence,” said Dennet, “ a drunken 
priest came to visit the Sacristan at St. Edmund’s-” 

“ It does not please my reverence,” answered the church¬ 
man, “ that there should be such an animal as a drunken 
priest, or, if there were, that a layman should so speak 
him. Be mannerly, my friend, and conclude the holy 
man only wrapped in meditation, which makes the head 
dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the stomach were filled 
with new wine — I have felt it myself.” 

“ Well, then,” answered father Dennet, “ a holy brother 
came to visit the Sacristan at St. Edmund’s — a sort of 
hedge-priest is the visitor, and kills half the deer that 
are stolen in the forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint- 
pot better than the sacring-bell, and deems a flitch of 
bacon worth ten of his breviary; for the rest, a good 
fellow and a merry, who will flourish a quarter-staff, 
draw a bow, and dance a Cheshire round with e’er a man 
in Yorkshire.” 

“ That last part of thy speech, Dennet,” said the Min¬ 
strel, “ has saved thee a rib or twain.” 

“Tush, man, I fear him not,” said Dennet; “I am 
somewhat old and stiff, but when I fought for the bell 
and ram at Doncaster-” 

“ But the story — the story, my friend,” again said the 
Minstrel. 






478 


JVANHOE. 


“Why, the tale is but this — Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh was buried at St. Edmund’s.” 

“ That’s a lie, and a loud one,” said the Friar, “ for I 
saw him borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh.” 

“Nay, then, e’en tell the story yourself, my masters,” 
said Dennet, turning sulky at these repeated contradic¬ 
tions ; and it was with some difficulty that the boor could 
be prevailed on, by the request of his comrade and the 
Minstrel, to renew his tale. “These two sober friars,” 
said he at length, “ since this reverend man will needs 
have them such, had continued drinking good ale, and 
wine, and what not, for the best part of a summer’s 
day, when they were aroused by a deep groan, and a 
clanking of chains, and the figure of the deceased 
Athelstane entered the apartment, saying, ‘ Ye evil 
shepherds-! ’ ” 

“ It is false,” said the Friar, hastily, “ he never spoke 
a word.” 

“ So ho! Friar Tuck,” said the Minstrel, drawing him 
apart from the rustics; “we have started a new hare, I 
find.” 

“ I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale,” said the hermit, “ I saw 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever 
saw a living man. He had his shroud on, and all about 
him smelt of the sepulchre — A butt of sack will not 
wash it out of my memory.” 

“ Pshaw! ” answered the Minstrel; “ thou dost but 
jest with me!” 

“Never believe me,” said the Friar, “ an I fetched not 
a knock at him with my quarter-staff that would have 
felled an ox, and it glided through his body as it might 
through a pillar of smoke! ” 

“ By St. Hubert,” said the Minstrel, “ but it is a won¬ 
drous tale, and fit to be put in metre to the ancient tune, 

‘ Sorrow came to the Old Friar.’ ” 

“Laugh, if ye list,” said Friar Tuck; “but an ye 
catch me singing on such a theme may the next ghost 
or devil carry me off with him headlong! No, no — I 
instantly formed the purpose of assisting at some good 
Work, such as the burning of a witch, a judicial combat, 



IVANRO&. 


479 


or the like matter of godly service, and therefore am 1 
here.” 

As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of the church 
of St. Michael of Teinplestowe, a venerable building, sit¬ 
uated in a hamlet at some distance from the Preceptory, 
broke short their argument. One by one the sullen 
sounds fell successively on the ear, leaving but sufficient 
space for each to die away in distant echo, ere the air 
was again filled by repetition of the iron knell. These 
sounds, the signal of the approaching ceremony, chilled 
with awe the hearts of the assembled multitude, whose 
eyes were now turned to the Preceptory, expecting the 
approach of the Grand Master, the champion, and the 
criminal. 

At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened, and a 
knight, bearing the great standard of the Order, sallied 
from the castle, preceded by six trumpets, and followed 
by the Knights Preceptors, two and two, the Grand Mas¬ 
ter coming last, mounted on a stately horse, whose furni¬ 
ture was of the simplest kind. Behind him came Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, but 
without his lance, shield, and sword, which were borne 
by his two esquires behind him. His face, though partly 
hidden by a long plume which floated down from his 
barret-cap, bore a strong and mingled expression of pas¬ 
sion, in which pride seemed to contend with irresolution. 
He looked ghastly pale, as if he had not slept for several 
nights, yet reined his pawing war-horse with the habitual 
ease and grace proper to the best lance of the Order of 
the Temple. His general appearance was grand and 
commanding: but, looking at him with attention, men 
read that in his dark features from which they willingly 
withdrew their eyes. 

On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet and Albert 
de Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the champion. 
They were in their robes of peace, the white dress of the 
Order. Behind them followed other companions of the 
Temple, with a long train of esquires and pages clad in 
black, aspirants to the honour of being one day knights 
of the Order. After these neophytes came a guard of 


480 


IVANHOE. 


warders on foot, in the same sable livery, amidst whose 
partisans might be seen the pale form of the accused, 
moving with a slow but undismayed step towards the 
scene of her fate. She was stript of all her ornaments, 
lest perchance there should be among them some of those 
amulets which Satan was supposed to bestow upon his 
victims, to deprive them of the power of confession even 
when under the torture. A coarse white dress, of the 
simplest form, had been substituted for her Oriental gar¬ 
ments ; yet there was such an exquisite mixture of cour¬ 
age and resignation in her look that even in this garb, 
and with no other ornament than her long black tresses, 
each eye wept that looked upon her, and the most hard¬ 
ened bigot regretted the fate that had converted a crea¬ 
ture so goodly into a vessel of wrath, and a waged slave 
of the devil. 

A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the Pre- 
ceptory followed the victim, all moving with the utmost 
order, with arms folded and looks bent upon the ground. 

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence, 
on the summit of which was the tiltyard, and, entering 
the lists, marched once around them from right to left, 
and when they had completed the circle, made a halt. 
There was then a momentary bustle, while the Grand 
Master and all his attendants, excepting the champion 
and his godfathers, dismounted from their horses, which 
were immediately removed out of the lists by the esquires, 
who were in attendance for that purpose. 

The unfortunate Rebecca was conducted to the black 
chair placed near the pile. On her first glance at the 
terrible spot where preparations were making for a death 
alike dismaying to the mind, and painful to the body, she 
was observed to shudder and shut her eyes, praying inter¬ 
nally, doubtless, for her lips moved, though no speech 
was heard. In the space of a minute she opened her eyes, 
looked fixedly on the pile as if to familiarise her mind 
with the object, and then slowly and naturally turned 
away her head. 

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his seat; 
and when the chivalry of his Order was placed around 


IVANROE. 


481 


and behind him, each in his due rank, a loud and long 
flourish of the trumpets announced that the court were 
seated for judgment. Malvoisin then, acting as godfathei 
of the champion, stepped forward, and laid the glove ol 
the Jewess, which was the pledge of battle, at the feet 
of the Grand Master. 

“ Valorous lord and reverend father,” said he, “here 
standeth the good knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Knight 
Preceptor of the Order of the Temple, who, by accepting 
the pledge of battle which I now lay at your reverence’s 
feet, hath become bound to do his devoir in combat this 
day, to maintain that this Jewish maiden, by name Be- 
becca, hath justly deserved the doom passed upon her in 
a chapter of this most Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, 
condemning her to die as a sorceress — here, I say, he 
standeth, such battle to do, knightly and honourable, if 
such be your noble and sanctified pleasure.” 

“Hath he made oath,” said the Grand Master, “that 
his quarrel is just and honourable ? Bring forward the 
crucifix and the Te igitur .” 

“ Sir and most reverend father,” answered Malvoisin, 
readily, “ our brother here present hath already sworn to 
the truth of his accusation in the hand of the good knight 
Conrade de Mont-Pitchet; and otherwise he ought not to 
be sworn, seeing that his adversary is an unbeliever, and 
may take no oath.” 

This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert’s great 
joy; for the wily knight had foreseen the great difficulty, 
or rather impossibility, of prevailing upon Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert to take such an oath before the assembly, and 
had invented this excuse to escape the necessity of his 
doing so. 

The Grand Master, having allowed the apology of Al¬ 
bert Malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand forth and 
do his devoir. The trumpets then again flourished, and a 
herald^, stepping forward, proclaimed aloud: “ Oyez, oyez, 
oyez. — $Iere standeth the good knight, Sir Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, ready to do battle with any knight of free blood 
who will sustain the quarrel allowed and allotted to the 
Jewess Bebecca, to try by champion, in respect of law* 

2 i 


482 


IVANHOE. 


ful essoine of her own body; and to such champion the 
reverend and valorous Grand Master here present allows 
a fair field, and equal partition of sun and wind, and 
whatever else appertains to a fair combat.” The trum¬ 
pets again sounded, and there was a dead pause of many 
minutes. 

“No champion appears for the appellant,” said the 
Grand Master. “ Go, herald, and ask her whether she 
expects any one to do battle for her in this her cause.” 

The herald went to the chair in which Rebecca was 
seated; and Bois-Guilbert, suddenly turning his horse’s 
head toward that end of the lists, in spite of hints on 
either side from Malvoisin and Mont-Fitchet, was by the 
side of Rebecca’s chair as soon as the herald. 

“ Is this regular, and according to the law of combat ? ” 
said Malvoisin, looking to the Grand Master. 

“Albert de Malvoisin, it is,” answered Beaumanoir; 
“ for in this appeal to the judgment of God we may not 
prohibit parties from having that communication with 
each other which may best tend to bring forth the truth 
of the quarrel.” 

In the meantime, the herald spoke to Rebecca in these 
terms: “ Damsel, the honourable and reverend the Grand 
Master demands of thee, if thou art prepared with a 
champion to do battle this day in thy behalf, or if thou 
dost yield thee as one justly condemned to a deserved 
doom ?” 

“ Say to the Grand Master,” replied Rebecca, “ that I 
maintain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly 
condemned, lest I become guilty of mine own blood. Say 
to him, that I challenge such delay as his forms will 
permit, to see if God, whose opportunity is in man’s 
extremity, will raise me up a deliverer; and when such 
uttermost space is passed, may His holy will be done ! ” 

The herald retired to carry this answer to the Grand 
Master. 

“God forbid,” said Lucas Beaumanoir, “that Jew or 
Pagan should impeach us of injustice ! Until the shad¬ 
ows be cast from the west to the eastward, will we wait 
to see if a champion shall appear for this unfortunate 


IVAN HOE. 


483 


woman. When the day is so far passed, let her prepare 
for death.” 

The herald communicated the words of the Grand 
Master to Rebecca, who bowed her head submissively, 
folded her arms, and, looking up towards heaven, seemed 
to expect that aid from above which she could scarce 
promise herself from man. During this awful pause, 
the voice of Bois-Guilbert broke upon her ear; it was 
but a whisper, yet it startled her more than the summons 
of the herald had appeared to do. 

“ Rebecca,” said the Templar, “ dost thou hear me ? ” 

“ I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted man,” 
said the unfortunate maiden. 

“ Ay, but dost thou understand my words ? ” said the 
Templar; “for the sound of my voice is frightful in 
mine own ears. I scarce know on what ground we stand, 
or for what purpose they have brought us hither. This 
listed space — that chair — these faggots — I know their 
purpose, and yet it appears to me like something unreal — 
the fearful picture of a vision, which appals my sense 
with hideous fantasies, but convinces not my reason.” 

“ My mind and senses keep touch and time,” answered 
Eebecca, “ and tell me alike that these faggots are des¬ 
tined to consume my earthly body, and open a painful 
but a brief passage to a better world.” 

“ Dreams, Eebecca—dreams,” answered the Templar—■ 
“ idle visions, rejected by the wisdom of your own wiser 
Sadducees. Hear me, Eebecca,” he said, proceeding with 
animation; “ a better chance hast thou for life and liberty 
than yonder knaves and dotard dream of. Mount thee 
behind me on my steed — on Zamor, the gallant horse 
that never failed his rider. I won him in single fight 
from the Soldan of Trebizond. Mount, I say, behind me; 
in one short hour is pursuit and inquiry far behind — a 
new world of pleasure opens to thee — to me a new career 
of fame. Let them speak the doom which I despise, and 
erase the name of Bois*-Guilbert from their list of monas¬ 
tic slaves! I will wash out with blood whatever blot 
they may dare to cast on my scutcheon.” 

“ Tempter,” said Eebecca, “ begone! Kot in this last 


484 


IVANHOE. 


extremity canst thou move me one hair’s-breadth from 
my resting-place. Surrounded as I am by foes, I hold 
thee as my worst and most deadly enemy; avoid thee, 
in the name of God! ” 

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the dura¬ 
tion of their conference, now advanced to interrupt it. 

“ Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt ? ” he de¬ 
manded of Bois-Guilbert; “or is she resolute in her 
denial ? ” 

“ She is indeed resolute ,” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Then,” said Malvoisin, “ must thou, noble brother, 
resume thy place to attend the issue. The shades are 
changing on the circle of the dial. — Come, brave Bois- 
Guilbert — come, thou hope of our Holy Order, and soon 
to be its head.” 

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his hand on 
the knight’s bridle, as if to lead him back to his station. 

“False villain! what meanest thou by thy hand on 
my rein ? ” said Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking off his 
companion’s grasp, he rode back to the upper end of the 
lists. 

“ There is yet spirit in him,” said Malvoisin apart to 
Mont-Fitchet, “ were it well directed; but, like the Greek 
fire, it burns whatever approaches it.” 

The judges had now been two hours in the lists, await¬ 
ing in vain the appearance of a champion. 

“ And reason good,” said Friar Tuck, “ seeing she is a 
Jewess; and yet, by mine Order, it is hard that so young 
and beautiful a creature should perish without one blow 
being struck in her behalf! Were she ten times a witch, 
provided she were but the least bit of a Christian, my 
quarter-staff should ring noon on the steel cap of yonder 
fierce Templar, ere he carried the matter off thus.” 

It was, however, the general belief that no one could 
or would appear for a Jewess accused of sorcery; and 
the knights, instigated by Malvoisin, whispered to each 
other that it was time to declare the pledge of Rebecca 
forfeited. At this instant a knight, urging his horse to 
speed, appeared on the plain advancing towards the lists. 
A hundred voices exclaimed, “ A championJ — a cham- 


IVAN HOE. 


48a 


pion ! ” And, despite the prepossessions and prejudices 
of the multitude, they shouted unanimously as the knight 
rode into the tiltyard. The second glance, however, served 
to destroy the hope that his timely arrival had excited. 
His horse, urged for many miles to its utmost speed, ap¬ 
peared to reel from fatigue, and the rider, however un¬ 
dauntedly he presented himself in the lists, either from 
weakness, weariness, or both, seemed scarce able to sup¬ 
port himself in the saddle. 

To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, 
his name, and purpose, the stranger knight answered 
readily and boldly: “I am a good knight and noble, 
come hither to sustain with lance and sword the just and 
lawful quarrel of this damsel, Rebecca, daughter of Isaac 
of York; to uphold the doom pronounced against her to 
be false and truthless, and to defy Sir Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, as a traitor, murderer, and liar; as I will prove 
in this field with my body against his, by the aid of God, 
of Our Lady, and of Monseigneur St. George, the good 
knight.” 

“ The stranger must first show,” said Malvoisin, “ that 
he is good knight, and of honourable lineage. The Tem¬ 
ple sendeth not forth her champions against nameless 
men.” 

“My name,” said the knight, raising his helmet, “is 
better known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than 
thine own. I am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.” 

“ I will not fight with thee at present,” said the Templar, 
in a changed and hollow voice. “ Get thy wounds healed, 
purvey thee a better horse, and it may be I will hold it 
worth my while to scourge out of thee this boyish spirit 
of bravado.” 

“ Ha! proud Templar,” said Ivanhoe, “ hast thou for¬ 
gotten that twice didst thou fall before this lance ? Re¬ 
member the lists at Acre —remember the Passage of Arms 
at Ashby — remember thy proud vaunt in the halls of 
Rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chain against my 
reliquary, that thou wouldst do battle with Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe, and recover the honour thou hadst lost! By 
that reliquary, and the holy relic it contains, I will pro- 


486 


IVANHOE . 


claim thee, Templar, a coward in every court in Europe 
— in every Preceptory of thine Order — unless thou do 
battle without farther delay.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely to¬ 
wards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at 
Ivanhoe: “ Dog of a Saxon! take thy lance, and prepare 
for the death thou hast drawn upon thee! ” 

“ Does the Grand Master allow me the combat ? ” said 
Ivanhoe. 

“ I may not deny what thou hast challenged,” said the 
Grand Master, “ provided the maiden accepts thee as her 
champion. Yet I would thou wert in better plight to do 
battle. An enemy of our Order hast thou ever been, yet 
would I have thee honourably met with.” 

“ Thus — thus as I am, and not otherwise,” said Ivan¬ 
hoe; “ it is the judgment of God—to his keeping I 
commend myself. Rebecca,” said he, riding up to the 
fatal chair, “ dost thou accept of me for thy champion ? ” 

“ I do,” she said — “ I do,” fluttered by an emotion 
which the fear of death had been unable to produce—“I 
•do accept thee as the champion whom Heaven hath sent 
me. Yet, no—no—thy wounds are uncured — Meet not 
that proud man — why shouldst thou perish also ?” 

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed 
his visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the 
same; and his esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, 
that his face, which had, notwithstanding the variety of 
emotions by which he had been agitated, continued dur¬ 
ing the whole morning of an ashy paleness, was now be¬ 
come suddenly very much flushed. 

The herald then, seeing each champion in his place, 
uplifted his voice, repeating thrice: “ Faites vos devoirs , 
preux chevaliers!” After the third cry, he withdrew to 
one side of the lists, and again proclaimed that none, on 
peril of instant death, should dare by word, cry, or action 
to interfere with or disturb this fair field of combat. 
The Grand Master, who held in his hand the gage of 
battle, Rebecca’s glove, now threw it into the lists, and 
pronounced the fatal signal words, Laissez aller. 

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each 
























































* 



IV AN HOE. 


487 


other in full career. The wearied horse of Ivan hoe, and 
its no less exhausted rider, went down, as all had ex¬ 
pected, before the well-aimed lance and vigorous steed of 
the Templar. This issue of the combat all had foreseen; 
but although the spear of Ivanhoe did but, in comparison, 
touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that champion, to the 
astonishment of all who beheld it, reeled in his saddle, 
lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists. 

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was 
soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; 
but his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on 
his breast, and the sword’s point to his throat, commanded 
him to yield him, or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert 
returned no answer. 

“ Slay him not, Sir Knight,” cried the Grand Master, 
“unshriven and unabsolved — kill not body and soul! 
We allow him vanquished.” 

He descended into the lists, and commanded them to 
unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes were closed; 
the dark red flush was still on his brow. As they looked 
on him in astonishment, the eyes opened; but they were 
fixed and glazed. The flush passed from his brow, and 
gave way to the pallid hue of death. Unscathed by the 
lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence 
of his own contending passions. 

“ This is indeed the judgment of God,” said the Grand 
Master, looking upwards —“ Fiat voluntas tua ! ” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

So ! now ’tis ended, like an old wife’s story. 

Webster. 

When the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of 
the field, if he had manfully and rightfully done his duty 
in the combat. 

“ Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,” said the 
Grand Master; “I pronounce the maiden free and guilt- 


488 


1VANH0E. 


less. The arms and the body of the deceased knight are 
at the will of the victor.” 

"I will not despoil him of his weapons,” said the 
Knight of Ivanhoe, “ nor condemn his corpse to shame 
— he hath fought for Christendom. God’s arm, no 
human hand, hath this day struck him down. But let 
his obsequies be private, as becomes those of a man who 
died in an unjust quarrel. And for the maiden-” 

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, 
advancing in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake 
the ground before them; and the Black Knight gal¬ 
loped into the lists. He was followed by a numerous 
band of men-at-arms, and several knights in complete 
armour. 

“ I am too late,” he said, looking around him. “ I had 
doomed Bois-Guilbert for mine own property. — Ivanhoe, 
was this well, to take on thee such a venture, and thou 
scarce able to keep thy saddle ? ” 

“ Heaven, my Liege,” answered Ivanhoe, “ hath taken 
this proud man for its victim. He was not to be honoured 
in dying as your will had designed.” 

“ Peace be with him,” said Richard, looking steadfastly 
on the corpse, “ if it may be so; he was a gallant knight, 
and has died in his steel harness full knightly. But we 
must waste no time — Bohun, do thine office ! ” 

A knight stepped forward from the King’s attendants, 
and, laying his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Mal- 
voisin, said, “ I arrest thee of high treason.” 

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at 
the appearance of so many warriors. He now spoke. 

“ Who dares to arrest a knight of the Temple of Zion, 
within the girth of his own Preceptory, and in the pres¬ 
ence of the Grand Master? and by whose authority is 
this bold outrage offered ? ” 

“ I make the arrest,” replied the knight — “ I, Henry 
Bohun, Earl of Essex, Lord High Constable of England.” 

“ And he arrests Malvoisin,” said the King, raising his 
visor, “ by the order of Richard Plantagenet, here pres¬ 
ent. Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou art 
born no subject of mine. But for thee, Malvoisin, thou 



IVAN HOE. 489 

diest with thy brother Philip ere the world be a week 
older.” 

“ I will resist thy doom,” said the Grand Master. 

“ Proud Templar,” said the King, “thou canst not — 
look up, and behold the royal standard of England floats 
over thy towers instead of thy Temple banner! Be wise, 
Beaumanoir, and make no bootless opposition. Thy hand 
is in the lion’s mouth.” 

“ I will appeal to Borne against thee,” said the Grand 
Master, “for usurpation on the immunities and privi¬ 
leges of our Order.” 

“ Be it so,” said the King; “ but for thine own sake 
tax me not with usurpation now. Dissolve thy Chapter, 
and depart with thy followers to thy next Preceptory, if 
thou canst find one which has not been made the scene 
of treasonable conspiracy against the King of England. 
— Or, if thou wilt, remain, to share our hospitality, and 
behold our justice.” 

“ To be a guest in the house where I should command ? ” 
said the Templar ; “ never! — Chaplains, raise the Psalm, 
‘ Quare fremuerunt gentes?’ Knights, squires, and fol¬ 
lowers of the Holy Temple, prepare to follow the banner 
of Beau-seant! ” 

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which con¬ 
fronted even that of England’s king himself, and inspired 
courage into his surprised and dismayed followers. They 
gathered around him like the sheep around the watch¬ 
dog, when they hear the baying of the wolf. But they 
evinced not the timidity of the scared flock; there were 
dark brows of defiance, and looks which menaced the 
hostility they dared not to proffer in words. They drew 
together in a dark line of spears, from which the white 
cloaks of the knights were visible among the dusky 
garments of their retainers, like the lighter-coloured 
edges of a sable cloud. The multitude, who had raised 
a clamorous shout of reprobation, paused and gazed in 
silence on the formidable and experienced body to which 
they had unwarily bade defiance, and shrunk back from 
their front. 

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in 


490 


IVANHOE. 


their assembled force, dashed the rowels into his charger’s 
sides, and galloped backwards and forwards to array his 
followers, in opposition to a band so formidable. Richard 
alone, as if he loved the danger his presence had pro¬ 
voked, rode slowly along the front of the Templars, call¬ 
ing aloud: “ What, sirs! Among so many gallant knights, 
will none dare to splinter a spear with Richard ? — Sirs 
of the Temple! your ladies are but sunburned, if they 
are not worth the shiver of a broken lance! ” 

“ The brethren of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, 
riding forward in advance of their body, “ fight not on 
such idle and profane quarrel; and not with thee, Richard 
of England, shall a Templar cross lance in my presence. 
The Pope and princes of Europe shall judge our quarrel, 
and whether a Christian prince has done well in buckler¬ 
ing the cause which thou hast to-day adopted. If un¬ 
assailed, we depart assailing no one. To thine honour 
we refer the armour and household goods of the Order 
which we leave behind us, and on thy conscience we lay 
the scandal and offence thou hast this day given to 
Christendom.” 

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the 
Grand Master gave the signal of departure. Their trum¬ 
pets sounded a wild march, of an Oriental character, which 
formed the usual signal for the Templars to advance. 
They changed their array from a line to a column of 
march, and moved off as slowly as their horses could step, 
as if to show it was only the will of their Grand Master, 
and no fear of the opposing and superior force, which 
compelled them to withdraw. 

“ By the splendour of Our Lady’s brow! ” said King 
Richard, “it is pity of their lives that these Templars 
are not so trusty, as they are disciplined and valiant.” 

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till 
the object of its challenge has turned his back, raised a 
feeble shout as the rear of the squadron left the ground. 

During the tumult which attended the retreat of the 
Templars, Rebecca saw and heard nothing; she was locked 
in the arms of her aged father, giddy, and almost sense¬ 
less, with the rapid change of circumstances around her, 


I VAN HOE. 


491 


But one word from Isaac at length recalled her scattered 
feelings. 

“ Let us go,” he said, “ my dear daughter, my recovered 
treasure — let us go to throw ourselves at the feet of the 
good youth.” 

“Not so,” said Rebecca. “Oh no — no — no! I must 
not at this moment dare to speak to him. Alas! I should 

say more than- No, my father, let us instantly leave 

this evil place.” 

“ But, my daughter,” said Isaac, “ to leave him who hath 
come forth like a strong man with his spear and shield, 
holding his life as nothing, so he might redeem thy cap¬ 
tivity; and thou, too, the daughter of a people strange 
unto him and his — this is service to be thankfully 
acknowledged.” 

“ It is — it is — most thankfully — most devoutly ac¬ 
knowledged,” said Rebecca; “ it shall be still more so — 
but not now — for the sake of thy beloved Rachel, father, 
grant my request — not now ! ” 

“Nay, but,” said Isaac, insisting, “they will deem us 
more thankless than mere dogs ! ” 

“ But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard is 
in presence, and that-” 

“ True, my best—my wisest Rebecca. Let us hence— 
let us hence! Money he will lack, for he has just returned 
from Palestine, and, as they say,from prison; and pretext 
for exacting it, should he need any, may arise out of my 
simple traffic with his brother John. Away — away, let 
us hence ! ” 

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted 
her from the lists, and by means of conveyance which he 
had provided, transported her safely to the house of the 
Rabbi Nathan. 

The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal 
interest of the day, having now retired unobserved, the 
attention of the populace was transferred to the Black 
Knight. They now filled the air with “Long life to 
Richard with the Lion’s Heart, and down with the usurp¬ 
ing Templars! ” 

“Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty,” said Ivanhoe to 




492 


IVANHOE. 


the Earl of Essex, “ it was well the King took the precau¬ 
tion to bring thee with him, noble Earl, and so many of 
thy trusty followers.” 

The Earl smiled and shook his head. 

“ Gallant Ivanhoe,” said Essex, “ dost thou know our 
master so well, and yet suspect him of taking so wise a 
precaution? I was drawing towards York, having heard 
that Prince John was making head there, when I met 
King Richard, like a true knight-errant, galloping hither 
to achieve in his own person this adventure of the Templar 
and the Jewess, with his own single arm. I accompanied 
him with my band, almost maugre his consent.” 

“And what news from York, brave Earl? ” said Ivan¬ 
hoe ; “ will the rebels bide us there ? ” 

“Ko more than December’s snow will bide July’s sun,” 
said the Earl; “ they are dispersing; and who should come 
posting to bring us the news, but John himself! ” 

“ The traitor! — the ungrateful, insolent traitor! ” said 
Ivanhoe; “ did not Richard order him into confinement ? ” 

“ Oh ! he received him,” answered the Earl, “ as if they 
had met after a hunting party; and, pointing to me and 
our men-at-arms, said, ‘ Thou seest, brother, I have some 
angry men with me; thou wert best go to our mother, 
carry her my duteous affection, and abide with her until 
men’s minds are pacified.’ ” 

“ And this was all he said ? ” inquired Ivanhoe; “ would 
not any one say that this prince invites men to treason 
by his clemency ? ” 

“Just,” replied the Earl, “as the man may be said to 
invite death who undertakes to fight a combat, having a 
dangerous wound unhealed.” 

“I forgive thee the jest, Lord Earl,” said Ivanhoe; 
“ but, remember, I hazarded but my own life — Richard, 
the welfare of his kingdom.” 

“ Those,” replied Essex, “ who are specially careless of 
their own welfare are seldom remarkably attentive to that 
of others — But let us haste to the castle, for Richard 
meditates punishing some of the subordinate members of 
the conspiracy, though he has pardoned their principal.” 

From the judicial investigations which followed on this 


IVANHOE. 


493 


occasion, and which are given at length in the Wardour 
Manuscript, it appears that Maurice de Bracy escaped be¬ 
yond seas, and went into the service of Philip of France, 
while Philip de Malvoisin and his brother Albert, the 
Preceptor of Templestowe, were executed, although Wal- 
demar Fitzurse, the soul of the conspiracy, escaped with 
banishment, and Prince John, for whose behoof it was 
undertaken, was not even censured by his good-natured 
brother. No one, however, pitied the fate of the two 
Malvoisin s, who only suffered the death which they had 
both well deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, 
and oppression. 

Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was 
summoned to the court of Richard, which, for the purpose 
of quieting the counties that had been disturbed by the 
ambition of his brother, was then held at York. Cedric 
tushed and pshawed more than once at the message — but 
he refused not obedience. In fact, the return of Richard 
had quenched every hope that he had entertained of re¬ 
storing a Saxon dynasty in England; for, whatever head 
the Saxons might have made in the event of a civil war, 
it was plain that nothing could be done under the undis¬ 
puted dominion of Richard, popular as he was by his 
personal good qualities and military fame, although his 
administration was wilfully careless — now too indulgent 
and now allied to despotism. 

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric’s reluc¬ 
tant observation that his project for an absolute union 
among the Saxons, by the marriage of Rowena and Athei¬ 
st ane, was now completely at an end, by the mutual dis¬ 
sent of both parties concerned. This was, indeed, an 
event which, in his ardour for the Saxon cause, he could 
not have anticipated; and even when the disinclination 
of both was broadly and plainly manifested, he could 
scarce bring himself to believe that two Saxons of royal 
descent should scruple, on personal grounds, at an alliance 
so necessary for the public weal of the nation. But it 
was not the less certain. Rowena had always expressed her 
repugnance to Athelstane, and now Athelstane was no less 
plain and positive in proclaiming his resolution never to 


494 


IVANHOE. 


pursue his addresses to the Lady Rowena. Even the 
natural obstinacy of Cedric sunk beneath these obstacles, 
where he, remaining on the point of junction, had the 
task of dragging a reluctant pair up to it, one with each 
hand. He made, however, a last vigorous attack on Athel- 
stane, and he found that resuscitated sprout of Saxon 
royalty engaged, like country squires of our own day, in 
a furious war with the clergy. 

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against the 
Abbot of St. Edmund’s, Athelstane’s spirit of revenge, 
what between the natural indolent kindness of his own 
disposition, what through the prayers of his mother Edith, 
attached, like most ladies (of the period), to the clerical 
order, had terminated in his keeping the Abbot and his 
monks in the dungeons of Coningsburgh for three days 
on a meagre diet. For this atrocity the Abbot menaced 
him with excommunication, and made out a dreadful list 
of complaints in the bowels and stomach, suffered by him¬ 
self and his monks, in consequence of the tyrannical and 
unjust imprisonment they had sustained. With this con¬ 
troversy, and with the means he had adopted to counter¬ 
act this clerical persecution, Cedric found the mind of his 
friend Athelstane so fully occupied, that it had no room 
for another idea. And when Rowena’s name was men¬ 
tioned, the noble Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full 
goblet to her health, and that she might soon be the bride 
of his kinsman Wilfred. It was a desperate case, there¬ 
fore. There was obviously no more to be made of Athel¬ 
stane; or, as Wamba expressed it, in a phrase which has 
descended from Saxon times to ours, he was a cock that 
would not fight. 

There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination 
which the lovers desired to come to, only two obstacles 
— his own obstinacy, and his dislike of the Norman 
dynasty. The former feeling gradually gave way before 
the endearments of his ward and the pride which he 
could not help nourishing in the fame of his son. Be¬ 
sides, he was not insensible to the honour of allying his 
own line to that of Alfred, when the superior claims of 
the descendant of Edward the Confessor were abandoned 


IVANHOE. 


495 


for ever. Cedric’s aversion to the Norman race of kings 
was also much undermined — first, by consideration of 
the impossibility of ridding England of the new dynasty,, 
a feeling which goes far to create loyalty in the subject 
to the king de facto ; and, secondly, by the personal at¬ 
tention of King Richard, who delighted in the blunt 
humour of Cedric, and to use the language of the War- 
dour Manuscript, so dealt with the noble Saxon that, ere 
he had been a guest at court for seven days, he had given 
his consent to the marriage of his ward and his son 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by 
his father, were celebrated in the most august of temples, 
the noble minster of York. The King himself attended, 
and, from the countenance which he afforded on this and 
other occasions to the distressed and hitherto degraded 
Saxons, gave them a safer and more certain prospect of 
attaining their just rights than they could reasonably 
hope from the precarious chance of a civil war. The 
Church gave her full solemnities, graced with all the 
splendour which she of Rome knows how to apply with 
such brilliant effect. 

Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquire upon 
his young master, whom he had served so faithfully, 
and the magnanimous Wamba, decorated with a new cap 
and a most gorgeous set of silver bells. Sharers of Wil¬ 
fred’s dangers and adversity, they remained, as they had 
a right to expect, the partakers of his more prosperous 
career. 

But, besides this domestic retinue, these distinguished 
nuptials were celebrated by the attendance of the high¬ 
born Normans, as well as Saxons, joined with the uni¬ 
versal jubilee of the lower orders, that marked the 
marriage of two individuals as a pledge of the future 
peace and harmony betwixt two races, which, since that 
period, have been so completely mingled that the dis¬ 
tinction has become wholly invisible. Cedric lived to 
see this union approximate towards its completion; for, 
as the two nations mixed in society and formed inter¬ 
marriages with each other, the Normans abated their 


496 


IVANHOE . 


scorn, and the Saxons were refined from their rusticity* 
But it was not until the reign of Edward the Third that 
the mixed language, now termed English, was spoken at 
the court of London, and that the hostile distinction of 
Norman and Saxon seems entirely to have disappeared. 

It was upon the second morning after this happy 
bridal that the Lady Rowena was made acquainted by 
her handmaid Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission 
to her presence, and solicited that their parley might be 
without witness. Rowena wondered, hesitated, became 
curious, and ended by commanding the damsel to be ad¬ 
mitted, and her attendants to withdraw. 

She entered — a noble and commanding figure, the 
long white veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadow¬ 
ing rather than concealing the elegance and majesty of 
her shape. Her demeanour was that of respect, un¬ 
mingled by the least shade either of fear or of a wish to 
propitiate favour. Rowena was ever ready to acknowl¬ 
edge the claims, and attend to the feelings, of others. 
She arose, and would have conducted her lovely visitor 
to a seat; but the stranger looked at Elgitha, and again 
intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena 
alone. Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling 
steps than, to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, her 
fair visitant kneeled on one knee, pressed her hands to 
her forehead, and bending her head to the ground, in 
spite of Rowena’s resistance, kissed the embroidered 
hem of her tunic. 

“What means this, lady?” said the surprised bride; 
u or why do you offer to me a deference so unusual ?” 

# “ Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe,” said Rebecca, 
Tising up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her 
manner, “ I may lawfully, and without rebuke/ pay the 
debt of gratitude which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I 
am — forgive the boldness which has offered to you the 
homage of my country — I am the unhappy Jewess for 
whom your husband hazarded his life against such fearful 
odds in the tiltyard of Templestowe.” 

“Damsel,” said Rowena, “Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that 
day rendered back but in slight measure yoor unceasing 


I VAN HOE. 


497 


charity towards him in his wounds and misfortunes. 
Speak, is there aught remains in which he or I can serve 
thee ? ” 

“ Nothing,’’ said Rebecca, calmly, “unless yon will trans¬ 
mit to him my grateful farewell.” 

“ Yon leave England, then ? ” said Rowena, scarce re¬ 
covering the surprise of this extraordinary visit. 

“I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My 
father hath a brother high in favour with Mohammed 
Boabd.il, King of Grenada—thither we go, secure of peace 
and protection, for the payment of such ransom as the 
Moslem exact from our people.” 

“And are you not then as well protected in England?” 
said Rowena. “My husband has favour with the King; 
the King himself is just and generous.” 

“'Lady,” said Rebecca, “I doubt it not; but the people 
of England are a fierce race, quarrelling ever with their 
neighbours or among themselves, and ready to plunge the 
sword into the bowels of each other. Such is no safe 
abode for the children of my people. Ephraim is an 
heartless dove — Issachar an over-laboured drudge, which 
stoops between two burdens. Not in a land of war and 
blood, surrounded by hostile neighbours, and distracted 
by internal factions, can Israel hope to rest during her 
wanderings.” 

“But you, maiden,” said Rowena—“you surely can 
have nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of 
Ivanhoe,” she continued, rising with enthusiasm, “she 
can have nothing to fear in England, where Saxon and 
Norman will contend who shall most do her honour.” 

“Thy speech is fair, lady,” said Rebecca, “and thy 
purpose fairer; but it may not be — there is a gulf betwixt 
us. Our breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass 
over it. Earewell—yet, ere I go, indulge me one request. 
The bridal veil hangs over thy face; deign to raise it, and 
let me see the features of which fame speaks so highly.” 

“They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,” said 
Rowena; “but, expecting the same from my visitant, I 
remove the veil.” 

She took it off accordingly; and, partly from the con- 


498 


IVAN HOE. 


sciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, sbe blushed 
so intensely that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom were 
suffused with crimson. Rebecca blushed also; but it was 
a momentary feeling, and, mastered by higher emotions, 
passed slowly from her features like the crimson cloud 
which changes colour when the sun sinks beneath the 
horizon. 

“Lady,” she said, “the countenance you have deigned 
to show me will long dwell in my remembrance. There 
reigns in it gentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of the 
world’s pride or vanities may mix with an expression so 
lovely, how should we chide that which is of earth for 
bearing some colour of its original ? Long, long will I 
remember your features, and bless God that I leave my 
noble deliverer united with-” 

She stopped short—her eyes filled with tears. She 
hastily wiped them, and answered to the anxious inquiries 
of Rowena: “ I am well, lady—well. But my heart swells 
when I think of Torquilstone and the lists of Temple- 
stowe.—Farewell. One, the most trifling, part of my duty 
remains undischarged. Accept this casket—startle not 
at its contents.” 

Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and per¬ 
ceived a carcanet, or necklace, with ear jewels, of dia¬ 
monds, which were obviously of immense value. 

“It is impossible,” she said, tendering back the casket. 
“I dare not accept a gift of such consequence.” 

“Yet keep it, lady,” returned Rebecca. “You have 
power, rank, command, influence; we have wealth, the 
source both of our strength and weakness; the value of 
these toys, ten times multiplied, would not influence half 
so much as your slightest wish. To you, therefore, the 
gift is of little value; and to me, what I part with is of 
much less. Let me not think you deem so wretchedly ill 
of my nation as your commons believe. Think ye that I 
prize these sparkling fragments of stone above my liberty ? 
or that my father values them in comparison to the hon¬ 
our of his only child? Accept them, lady—to me they 
are valueless. I will never wear jewels more.” 

“You are then unhappy t” said Rowena, struck with 



IVANHOE. 


499 


the manner in which Rebecca uttered the last words. “ Oh, 
remain with us; the counsel of holy men will wean you 
from your erring law, and I will be a sister to you.” 

“No, lady,” answered Rebecca, the same calm melan¬ 
choly reigning in her soft voice and beautiful features — 
“ that may not be. I may not change the faith of my 
fathers like a garment unsuited to the climate in which 
I seek to dwell; and unhappy, lady, I will not be. He 
to whom I dedicate my future life will be my comforter, 
if I do His will.” 

“ Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to 
retire ? ” asked Rowena. 

“No, lady,” said the Jewess; “but among our people, 
since the time of Abraham downwards, have been women 
who have devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and their 
actions to works of kindness to men — tending the sick, 
feeding the hungry, and relieving the distressed. Among 
these will Rebecca be numbered. Say this to thy lord, 
should he chance to inquire after the fate of her whose 
life he saved.” 

There was an involuntary tremour in Rebecca’s voice, 
and a tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more 
than she would willingly have expressed. She hastened 
to bid Rowena adieu. 

“Farewell,” she said. “May He who made both Jew 
and Christian shower down on you His choicest blessings! 
The bark that wafts us hence will be under weigh ere we 
can reach the port.” 

She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena sur¬ 
prised as if a vision had passed before her. The fail 
Saxon related the singular conference to her husband, on 
whose mind it made a deep impression. He lived long 
and happily with Rowena, for they were attached to each 
other by the bonds of early affection, and they loved each 
other the more from the recollection of the obstacles 
which had impeded their union. Yet it would be inquir¬ 
ing too curiously to ask whether the recollection of 
Rebecca’s beauty and magnanimity did not recur to his 
mind more frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred 
might altogether have approved 


500 


IVANHOE. 


Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, 
and was graced with farther marks of the royal favour. 
He might have risen still higher but for the premature 
death of the heroic Coeur-de-Lion, before the Castle of 
Chaluz, near Limoges. With the life of a generous, but 
rash and romantic, monarch, perished all the projects 
which his ambition and his generosity had formed; to 
whom may be applied, with a slight alteration, the lines 
composed by Johnson for Charles of Sweden — 

His fate was destined to a foreign strand, 

A petty fortress and an “humble” hand ; 

He left the name at which the world grew pale* 

To point a moral, or adorn a talk. 


NOTE 


The following plates are chosen from 
Yiollet-le-Duc’s Dictionnaire de VArchitec¬ 
ture, from the account of the Chateau de 
Coucy. This castle belongs to a period 
somewhat later than the period of Ivanhoe, 
and is more elaborate than Front-de-Bceuf’s 
Torquilstone. But it shows all the peculi¬ 
arities of the mediaeval castle, and exem¬ 
plifies each of the features mentioned by 
Scott in his account of the siege and de¬ 
struction of Torquilstone. 



A, Chapel; B, Donjon; C, D, Towers; E, Bridge across the Moat; E'E", Outer 
Gates; FF', Guard House; G, Inner Gate; H, Guard Room; I, Curtain of the Fort¬ 
ress ; K, Courtyard ; L, Servants’ Quarters ; MM', Dwellings and Staircases ; N, Store¬ 
house and Cellars; O, Crypt of Chapel; PP', Kitchen and Stairway to Cellars; R, 
Kitchen Courtyard ; S, T, Towers; Y, Rampart; XX', Pierced Postern and Well; Y, 
Drawbridge ; Z, Prison with Staircase. 
































CHATEAU DE COUCY (Exterior) 

From Viollet-le-Duc’s Diationnaire de VArchitecture 







































MAP OF THE NORTHEASTERN PART OF ENGLAND 
Where th leading events of Ivanhoe are supposed to have taken place. 





NOTES 


Pronunciation of Difficult Names 

Ashby-de-la-Zouche (zoosh) 

Athelstane (ath'el-stan) 

Aymer, Prior (pri'or a'mer) 

Beaumanoir (bo-ma-nwor') 

Brian de Bois-Guilbert (brl-an' de bwa gel-ber') 

Cedric (sed'rik) 

Conrad de Mont-Fitchet (mon fe-sha') 

Front-de-Boeuf (fron de blif') 

Grantmesnil (gr&n-ma-ne') 

Herman of Goodalricke (good-al-rfk'e) 

Jorvaulx (zhor-vo') 

Le Noir Faineant (le nwar fa-na-an') 

Malvoisin (mal-vwa-zan') 

Maurice de Bracy (mo-res' de bra-se') 

Richard Coeur de Lion (kfir'de le'on) 

Rowena (ro-e'na) 

Vipont (ve-pon') 

Waldemar Fitzurse (wal-de-mar fits'firs) 

Page 1. Dragon of Wantley, a fabulous monster, vulnerable 
only in the mouth, killed by More of More-Hall. 

4. Druidical superstition. The Druids were heathen priests 
who worshiped in oak groves and were said to sacrifice human 
beings. 

5. hauberk, a coat of mail formed of steel rings interwoven 
and reaching below the knees, the lower part being divided at the 
sides or in the front and back to enable the Wearer to mount his 
horse. 

6. gorget, a piece of armor for the protection of the throat. 

7. Harlequin, a character in comedy and pantomime with 
shaven head, masked face, particolored tights, and sword of lath. 

8. lurcher, a dog supposed to have been a cross between a 
grayhound and a sheepdog, and noted for keenness of scent and 
for silence in hunting. 

10. quarter-staff, a stout stick about six feet long used by 
grasping the middle with one hand and a point midway between 

501 


502 


IV AN HOE 


the middle and the end with the other, whirling the staff rapidly 
by shifting the latter and giving severe blows with the ends. 

11. Cistercian monk, a member Of a monastic order founded 
1098 at Citeaux (Cistercium) by Robert Abbot of Molesme under 
the order of St. Benedict. 

11. pent-house, a weather shield projecting above a doorway 
or window opening, used figuratively here. 

12. palfrey, a saddle horse as distinguished from a war horse. 
Sumpter, an animal that carries burdens. 

14. Damascene carving, that is, carving of designs inlaid in 
another metal, four regular orders of monks, Dominicans, 
Franciscans, Augustinians, and Carmelites, cross of a peculiar 
form, the so-called Maltese, or eight-pointed, cross. 

14. El Jerrid, the Arabic name for military exercise with the 
javelin. 

15. Prior, a monastic officer inferior to the abbot. 

16. benedicite mez fils, bless you, my sons. 

17. Clericus clericum non decimat, A churchman does not 
take tithes of another churchman. 

19. Marry, an exclamation of surprise or asseveration. 

20. Hereward, an English patriot who lived about 1070. He 
was blockaded for three months on the Isle of Ely by William I. 

20. vae victis, woe to the vanquished. 

20. arrets, degrees, houris, beautiful maidens who, according 
to the Moslem faith, are to be the companions of the faithful in 
paradise. 

23. Palmer, in the Middle Ages, a pilgrim who had visited the 
holy places in Palestine, and who brought back a palm branch or 
a cross made from a palm leaf. 

27. slowhounds, bloodhounds, trencher, wooden platter. 

29. curfew, the hour fixed by the Normans for putting out the 
fire, or light. The law of curfew was aimed at the independence 
of the Saxons. 

30. hership, pillage. 

31. major-domo, steward, literally “ master in the house.” 

31. bell and book, the service of the church, mead, a fer¬ 
mented drink of water and honey with malt, yeast, etc. morat, 
an ancient drink of honey flavored with mulberries, pigment, 
a rich liquor composed of highly spiced wine and sweetened with 
honey, horns, the Saxons used horns for drinking cups. 

33. cope, a long cape worn by the clergy. 

35. sirrah, a term of address (usually to a man or a boy) 
used in contempt, anger, etc. uncle, a term used by jesters in¬ 
stead of “ master.” bow-hand, the bow was held in the left hand 
while the string was drawn with the right. 

39. lac dulce, sweet milk, lac acidum, sour milk. Vortigem, 
king of the Britons at the time of the Saxon invasion, wassail, 


NOTES 


503 


an ancient expression of good wishes, especially when drinking 
a health. 

40. Saladin, sultan of Egypt and Syria, Richard’s enemy, a 
leading character in Scott’s The Talisman. 

42. Mahound, Mohammed. Termagaunt, a fabled Moham¬ 
medan deity, from whom we have the modern “termigant,” 
meaning a brawling, turbulent, or abusive woman, gammon, a 
smoked or dried ham. 

44. recheate, a strain sounded on a horn to recall the hounds, 
morte, a flourish on the hunting horn at the death of game. 

44. curee, the portion of the game thrown to the dogs, arbor, 
the vital organs, nombles, the entrails. 

45. cri de guerre, war cry. Knights Hospitallers, knights of 
a mediseval religious military order called the Knights of St. 
John of Jerusalem. They built a hospital at Jerusalem in 1048. 

47. reliquary, a container for the relics of a saint. 

48. paternoster, the Lord’s Prayer; also, any formula spoken 
or muttered as a prayer. 

49. grace-cup, the last drink before parting or retiring. 

50. halfling, half a silver penny. 

60. en croupe, behind the saddle. 

61. flying fish. This comparison refers to the double chance 
that the flying fish have of being devoured by their enemies, for 
when out of the water, they are often made the victims of sea gulls. 

70. La Royne de la Beaulte et des Amours, the Queen of 
Love and Beauty. 

75. Canticles, the Song of Solomon, one of the books of the 
Old Testament. 

76. vis inertiae, power of inactivity. 

77. Wat Tyrrel’s mark. Sir Walter Tyrrel was supposed to 
have killed King William Rufus accidently while hunting. 

81. outrance, the uttermost. 

83. cap-a-pie, from head to foot. 

83. “The knights are dust,” lines from an unpublished poem 
by Coleridge. 

89. Gare le Corbeau, beware the raven. 

91. Cave, Adsum, beware, I am here. 

97. Wardour Manuscript. This was a fictitious manuscript 
which Scott humorously refers to as the authority for the story of 
Ivanhoe. zecchins, Venetian coins worth about $2.25. 

101. outrecuidance, presumption, insolence. 

104. moiety, one-half. 

107. estrada, an elevated part of the floor of a room. 

110. guilder, a Dutch coin worth about fifty cents. 

112. necromancers, magicians who attempted to foretell the 
future by means of communication with the dead, cabalists, 
persons skilled in secret magical arts. 


504 


IV AN HOE 


114. St. Nicholas’s clerks, robbers, clerks of Old Nick or of 
Satan. 

119. faire le moulinet, to play the windmill. 

127. Laissez aller ! let go! Beau-seant ! the name of the 
Templars’ banner, half black, half white, to intimate that they 
were candid and fair toward Christians, but black and terrible 
toward infidels. 

130. springal, youth. 

131. chamfron, armor for the front of a war horse’s head. 

138. Take heed, etc., the words of the message sent by Philip 

II of France when he learned that Richard had been released 
from the Austrian prison. 

140. nobles, gold coins worth about a dollar and a half. 

149. beccaficoes, small European birds, mostly warblers, 
supposed to eat figs, much esteemed for the table, and snared in 
great numbers in the autumn. 

154. Conclamatum est, poculatum est, translated in the 
following line. 

155. cabal. The Cabinet of Charles II consisted of Clifford, 
Ashley, Buckingham, Arlington, and Lauderdale. Their initial 
letters spell “cabal,” and it is now used as a term of reproach. 

165. pater, the first word of the Lord’s Prayer in Latin, 
ave, “hail,” the first word of the prayer to the Virgin Mary, 
credo, the Apostles Creed. 

167. trivet, a three-legged stool. 

172. urus, the wild ox, now extinct. Waes hael, old English 
spelling for “wassail”; it may be translated “be whole.” Drink 
hael, be in health, trencherman, table comrade. 

175. sirvente. Scott’s note on this passage is as follows: “ The 
realm of France, it is well known, was divided betwixt the 
Norman and Teutonic race, who spoke the language in which 
the word ‘yes’ is pronounced as oui, and the inhabitants of the 
Southern regions, whose speech, bearing some affinity to the 
Italian, pronounced the same word oc. The poets of the former 
race were called Minstrels, and their poems lays; those of the 
latter were termed Troubadours, and their compositions called 
sirventes and other names.” virelai, a form of old French verse, 
having two rhymes to the stanza. 

178. Exceptis excipiendis, excepting the exceptions. 

182. rere-supper, “a meal served late at night.” — Scott. 

199. De profundis clamavi, Out of the depths have I cried — 
from Psalms cxxx. 

201. truss my points, tie my laces — buttons were not used. 

208. refectories, dining halls of monasteries. 

212. sewer, the steward. 

221. Talmud, the entire body of Hebrew law. 

224. cassocks, loose outer coats. 


NOTES 


505 


226. Crowder, a player on a crowd, a kind of violin. 

238. Despardieux, The gods forbid! par amours, an illicit love. 

248. cartel, a formal defiance, cnichts, attendants. 

253. Pax vobiscum, peace be with you. 

254. Quidam . . . latrones, A certain traveler fell among 
thieves. 

254. cor meum eructavit, My heart spurted (blood). 

259. Et vobis . . . vestra, And with you. I pray, most holy 
father, for thy mercy. 

265. Woden, the Saxon form of Odin, the god of wisdom, 
poetry, and war in Norse mythology. Hertha, the earth goddess 
of the Teutons. Mista and Skogula were Valkyries, daughters of 
Odin. 

267. mangonel, a machine for hurling stones. Compostella, 
an order of Spanish knights, founded during the twelfth century 
to protect pilgrims on the way to the shrine of St. James at 
Compostella, Spain. Rollo, a Norse viking, first Duke of Nor¬ 
mandy. The battle cry of the Normans at Hastings, “Ha Rou! 
Ha Rou!” was taken from the war song referred to here. 

268. fortalice, a small fort. 

271. surquedy and outrecuidance, insolence and presumption, 
doit, a Dutch coin worth about a fourth of a cent. 

276. Deus vobiscum, God be with you. De Civitate Dei, 

On the City of God, the title of his greatest work. Sancta Maria, 
holy Mary. 

277. Si quis, suadente Diabolo, if any one, at the suggestion 
of the Devil. 

278. mantelets, temporary and movable defenses formed of 
planks, pavisses, large shields. 

280. hacqueton, a leather jacket worn under the mail. 

292. traveller of Juvenal’s tenth satire. The passage referred 
to says in substance that the traveler carrying a few vessels of 
silver trembles at the shadow of every reed in the moonlight; 
but if he have nothing of value with him, he can sing in the 
robber’s face. 

294. arblasts, crossbows, windlaces, machines for bending 
crossbows, quarrells, bolts adapted to the crossbow. 

299. En avant, forward! a la rescousse, to the rescue! 

303. derring-do, desperate courage, assoilzie, absolve. 

304. Moloch, a Semitic deity whose worship was accompanied 
by human sacrifice. 

305. Gideon, a renowned warrior and judge of Israel. Macca¬ 
beus, another champion of the Hebrews. 

308. bruit, rumor, malapert, impudent. 

321. Mount joye Saint Denis. St. Denis, the patron saint of 
France, is said to have suffered martyrdom on the hill in Paris 
called Mont-joie. 


506 


IV AN HOE 


328. demi-courbette, half-wheel; that is, he caused the horse 
to rear on its hind legs. 

334. liard, a French coin worth about six cents. 

335. Theow and Esne, thrall and bondsman. Folkfree and 
Sacless, a lawful freeman, hide, about one hundred acres, 
malison, a curse. 

338. soul-scat, a fee paid for masses for the dead. 

346. cardecu, an old French coin worth about thirty cents, 
pyet, magpie. 

347. manus imponere in servos Domini, to lay hands upon the 
servants of the Lord, excommunicabo vos, I shall excommunicate 
you. nebulo quidam, a certain rascal. 

348. Deus faciat salvam benignitatem vestram, May God pre¬ 
serve your goodness, venerie, hunting. 

350. propter . . . depellendum, in case of necessity and to keep 
out the cold. 

352. latro famosus, a noted robber. 

356. dortour, dormitory, maravedi, a Spanish coin worth 
one-half cent. 

358. inter res sacras, among sacred things. 

362. Ahithophel, counselor of King David and Absalom, noted 
for his wisdom. 

376. Ut Leo semper feriatur, That the lion (Satan) should 
always be smitten down, romaunts, romances. 

377. ut . . . oscula, that the kisses of all women should be 
avoided, basilisk, a fabulous serpent, lizard, or dragon, whose 
breath, and even look, was fatal. 

381. De Lectione Literarum, Concerning the Reading of Letters. 

382. Invenientur vigilantes, they shall be found watching. 
Vinum . . . hominis, Wine delights the heart of man. Rex . . . tua, 
The King shall take delight in thy beauty. 

383. Semper percutiatur leo vorans, The ravening lion is ever 
to be beaten down, sigils and periapts, seals and charms. 

386. De . . . camis. This edict is against communion with 
women of light character. 

388. le don d’amoureux merci, the gift of amorous favor. 

390. in flagrant delict, in the commission of the crime. 

395. Venite exultemus Domino, Come let us rejoice in the 
Lord. 

396. sortileges, divination by drawing lots. 

397. Auferte malum ex vobis, Put away the evil from you. 
Quod . . . incedat, None shall walk according to his own will. 
Ut.. . excommunicatis, that the brethren shall hold no inter¬ 
course with the excommunicated. Anathema, accursed. Ut. . . 
mulieribus, That the brethren shall not hold intercourse with 
strange women. Ut. . . oscula, that kissing should be shunned. 
De . . . fugiendis, concerning the shunning of kisses. 


NOTES 


507 


411. essoine, excuse, devoir, duty. 

413. capul, work horse. 

414. phlebotomy, the practice of blood-letting. 

416. mancus, an old Spanish coin worth sixty cents. 

426. ingots, gold or silver in bars. 

428. exorcisms, ceremonies for the driving out of evil spirits. 
433. destrier, war horse. 

431. Fructus Temporum, the title of a volume by St. Alban, 
translated “The Fruit of the Times.” 

447. Confiteor, I confess. 

458. crowds, species of violin, rotes, rude guitars. 

467. Mort de ma vie, Death of my life. 

468. oubliette, a dungeon with an opening only at the top. 
481. Te igitur, Thee therefore, the book of service used in 

administering oaths. Oyez, “Hear ye,” a call for silence used 
at the opening of a session of court. 

486. faites . . . chevaliers, Do your duty, brave knights! 

487. fiat voluntas tua, Thy will be done. 

489. Quare fremuerunt Gentes, Why do the heathen rage? 


QUESTIONS 

CHAPTER I 

(1) With what paragraph does the action begin? (2) What 
has been accomplished up to that point? (3) What do you 
learn from the conversation of Gurth and Wamba as to the re¬ 
lations existing between Saxons and Normans? (4) Are you 
able to visualize the two characters introduced in this chapter? 
(5) Do you get the picture of the contrasting characters more 
clearly from the author’s description of their appearance and 
dress or from their speech? (6) What names are mentioned 
that may prove to be those of characters in the story? (7) By 
what means is suspense secured? 

» 

CHAPTER II 

(1) What idea as to their characters do you get from the 
description of the Prior and his companion? (2) What characters 
are mentioned in this chapter but not introduced? (3) What 
wager does the Prior make with Brian? (4) Account for the 
Palmer’s familiarity with the road. 

CHAPTER III 

(1) What seem to be the distinguishing characteristics of 
Cedric? (2) Why was Rowena’s maid so certain that her mis¬ 
tress would choose to come to the dining hall? (3) What is the 
effect upon the reader of Cedric’s reference to his son? (4) Ac¬ 
count for Cedric’s impatience. (5) Describe the dining ha ll of 
Rotherwood. 


CHAPTER IV 

(1) What points of similarity do you notice in Brian and Cedric? 
(2) Describe the meeting of Brian and Rowena. (3) Give an 
example of the license that was permitted Wamba. (4) Would 

508 


QUESTIONS 


509 


you consider Cedric a hospitable man? Why? (5) What method 
of arousing suspense does Scott employ at the conclusion of 
this chapter? 

CHAPTER V 

(1) Why were the Jews at this period so persecuted and 
despised? (2) Describe the reception of Isaac at Rotherwood. 

(3) In what way did the Palmer show kindness to the Jew? 

(4) How did the Palmer become involved in the general con¬ 
versation? (5) What was the challenge and what was offered as a 
pledge? 

CHAPTER VI 

(1) What request did the Palmer deny, and what was the 
reason for the denial? (2) Why did Rowena send for him? 
(3) What was the purpose of the Palmer’s visit to the room 
occupied by Isaac? (4) What do you suppose the Palmer 
whispered in Gurth’s ear that served to arouse him so effectively? 

(5) Explain why the first six chapters may be said to compose 
the first unit of the story of Ivanhoe. 

CHAPTER VII 

(1) What is said of the characters of Prince John and his 
followers? (2) Under what circumstances is Rebecca introduced? 
(3) What are some points of contrast between Rebecca and 
Rowena? (4) Draw a plan of the lists from the description in 
this chapter. # (5) Account for the difference in conduct and 
bearing of Isaac at the tournament and at Rotherwood. 

CHAPTER VIII 

(1) What were the laws of the tournament? (2) Can you 
guess the identity of the Disinherited Knight? (3) Why did he 
receive the popular applause? (4) What act of courtesy on his 
part won the approval of the crowd? (5) What was the effect 
of the first day’s tournament upon Cedric? 

CHAPTER IX 

(1) Why did the suggestion that the Disinherited Knight might 
be King Richard so excite Prince John? (2) What motives 
prompted him to suggest that the victorious knight choose Alicia 


510 


IV AN HOE 


as the queen of Love and Beauty? (3) What reason did Cedric 
offer for Rowena’s declining Prince John’s invitation to dinner? 
(4) Why did the Disinherited Knight decline the invitation? 

CHAPTER X 

(1) What disposition did the Disinherited Knight make of 
the horses and armor won during the first day’s tournament? 

(2) Why did he refuse to permit Brian to enjoy the same terms 
as the other challengers? (3) What is the first indication to the 
reader that the Disinherited Knight is the Palmer? (4) Give an 
account of Gurth’s bargaining with Isaac. (5) Why was Rebecca 
so kind to Gurth? 


CHAPTER XI 

(1) What adventure befell Gurth while returning to his 
master’s tent? (2) How did he win the favor of the outlaws? 

(3) Do you think the incidents related in this chapter plausible? 

(4) What function does this chapter serve in the development 
of the plot? 

CHAPTER XII 

(1) Why did Athelstane not fight on the side of the Disin¬ 
herited Knight? (2) State briefly the laws that governed the 
second day of the tournament. (3) What enabled the Disin¬ 
herited Knight to withstand the onslaught of his three powerful 
antagonists? (4) What were the casualties of the tournament? 

(5) Explain the irony in the reference to this tournament as the 
“Gentle and Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby.” (6) Do you 
think that Rowena had guessed the identity of the Disinherited 
Knight before it was revealed at the conclusion of this chapter? 
(7) What are the two climaxes in this chapter? 

CHAPTER XIII 

(1) What caused Prince John to cut the tournament short? 
(2) What alternative was offered to Locksley? (3) What was 
Hubert’s set speech with which he answered all exhortations for 
him to display his best skill? (4) What prize did Locksley win 
and what disposition did he make of it? (5) Why did Prince 
John single Locksley out from the other archers? 


QUESTIONS 


511 


CHAPTER XIV 

(1) What inconsistencies of John’s character are illustrated 
by his actions in this chapter? (2) What breaches of etiquette 
did Cedric and Athelstane commit at the banquet? (3) Why 
had Cedric disinherited his son Wilfred? (4) In what manner 
did Cedric discomfort the Norman lords who had been ridiculing 
him and Athelstane? (5) What suggestion of a coming event is 
given at the conclusion of this chapter? 


CHAPTER XV 


(1) With what arguments did Waldemar Fitzurse seek to hold 
Prince John’s followers loyal to him? (2) What was De Bracy’s 
plan? (3) What caution did he receive from Fitzurse? (4) What 
motive, prompted Fitzurse’s loyalty to John? (5) What is the 
chief purpose of this chapter? 


CHAPTER XVI 


(1) Describe the traveler’s reception by the Hermit. (2) How 
did the Black Sluggard win the Clerk of Copmanhurst’s con¬ 
fidence? (3) What contest were they about to engage in when 
the harp was discovered? (4) Why was the Hermit so reluctant 
to reveal his real hospitality? 


CHAPTER XVII 

(1) What is the purpose of this chapter? (2) Does it develop 
the plot or merely reveal character? (3) Which of the songs do 
you like better? Why? (4) Can you guess the cause of the 
interruption of the revels? 


CHAPTER XVIII 

(1) What ill-omened incident occurred as Cedric’s party set 
out on their return journey? (2) State the respective claims 
to the leadership of the Saxons of Athelstane, of Rowena, and of 
Cedric. (3) Does this chapter advance the plot? 


CHAPTER XIX 

(1) Why did Cedric and Athelstane not fear molestation from 
the robbers of the forest? (2) How did Gurth effect his escape? 


512 


IV AN HOE 


(3) What plan on the part of Gurth and Wamba was frustrated 
by Locksley? (4) What reason did Locksley give for under¬ 
taking to secure the release of Cedric's party? 

CHAPTER XX 

(1) What was happening in the Hermit’s cell when Locksley 
knocked on the door? (2) In which capacity did the Clerk of 
Copmanhurst seem the more at home — as a priest, or as a 
forester? (3) Why was the Black Champion willing to join in 
Locksley’s enterprise? (4) Can you, at this stage, guess the 
identity of the Knight, of the Hermit, and of Locksley? 

CHAPTER XXI 

(1) Why did De Bracy change his original plan of rescuing 
Rowena from her captors in order to gain her favor? (2) What 
division of the spoils did De Bracy and the Templar agree upon? 
(3) Upon what was Athelstane’s attention chiefly fixed while 
Cedric talked to him of historical incidents that had happened 
in the Castle of Torquilstone? (4) With what incident does the 
chapter end? 

CHAPTER XXII 

(1) Describe the dungeon in which Isaac was imprisoned. 

(2) What was the amount of the ransom demanded of Isaac? 

(3) What traits of the Jew’s character do you find to admire? 

(4) What device does Scott use to connect the various threads of 
the plot? (5) What is the most dramatic moment in this chapter? 

CHAPTER XXIII 

(1) What arguments did De Bracy use in the effort to win his 
suit with Rowena? (2) Why was he relieved when the blast of 
the bugle called him away? (3) Why did De Bracy not kill 
Ivanhoe while he had him in his power? (4) Why does Scott 
add the last four paragraphs of this chapter? . 

CHAPTER XXIV 

(1) Who was Urfried? (2) What do you think of Rebecca’s 
bearing in the critical situation in which she was placed? 


QUESTIONS 


513 


(3) Do you think the Templar was sincere in his professed 
love for Rebecca? (4) What was it that terminated the Tem¬ 
plar’s interview with Rebecca? (5) How has Scott managed to 
inform the reader that the incidents narrated in the last four 
chapters were all taking place at the same time? 

CHAPTER XXV 

(1) What was the message that Front-de-Boeuf received from 
outside the castle? (2) What was the substance of the reply? 

(3) Why was Wamba chosen to play the part of the priest? 

(4) What revelation do these messages make as to the education 
of the people of the twelfth century? 

CHAPTER XXVI 

(1) What use did Front-de-Boeuf and De Bracy plan to make 
of the priest? (2) What was Wamba’s plan? (3) What obstacles 
did Cedric encounter after donning the priestly robe? (4) What 
did Athelstane do or say to increase our respect for him? 

CHAPTER XXVII 

(1) How did Ulrica come to be in the Castle of Torquilstone? 

(2) Why is so much prominence given to the story of her wrongs? 

(3) What speech of De Bracy in this chapter is most characteris¬ 
tic of him? (4) Why did Ulrica seek an interview with the sup¬ 
posed priest? (5) How did she propose to help the besiegers? 

CHAPTER XXVIII 

4 % 

(1) What caused Isaac to yield to his daughter’s wish to take 
Ivanhoe with them to York? (2) Where did Rebecca acquire her 
knowledge of the healing art? (3) What were Ivanhoe’s feelings 
when he regained consciousness? (4) Why did De Bracy not 
inform Front-de-Boeuf of the presence of Ivanhoe in the castle? 

(5) What is Rebecca’s feeling toward Ivanhoe? 

CHAPTER XXIX 

(1) What device does Scott use in describing the attack 
upon the castle? (2) What is the decisive moment of the siege? 


514 


IV AN HOE 


(3) Does Ivanhoe recognize the Black Knight? (4) Does 
Ivanhoe suspect that Rebecca is in love with him? (5) What is 
Ivanhoe’s attitude toward Rebecca? 

CHAPTER XXX 

(1) What suggestions does De Bracy make in the hope of 
ending the siege? (2) Give an account of Front-de-Boeuf’s death. 

(3) Do you think that De Bracy was cowardly? (4) What 
tribute was paid by De Bracy to Locksley’s skill as an archer? 
(5) Does Scott succeed in making the reader feel that Front-de- 
Boeuf receives poetic justice? 

CHAPTER XXXI 

(1) Give an account of De Bracy’s surrender. (2) How did 
Athelstane show his real valor? (3) What is the fate of Athel- 
stane? (4) What became of Rebecca? (5) Which of the prisoners 
remain unaccounted for at the close of this chapter? (6) Which 
do you consider the greatest example of courage described in this 
chapter? 

CHAPTER XXXII 

(1) What was Gurth’s reward for faithfulness? (2) Do you 
think De Bracy’s apology to Rowena was sincere? (3) Can you 
guess now what boon the Black Knight will ask of Cedric? 

(4) What reward did the Black Champion ask of Locksley? 

(5) What gift did he receive in addition? (6) What disposition 
did Locksley make of the spoil? (7) By what means was Isaac 
rescued from the dungeon? (8) How did the Friar show his 
good sportsmanship? 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

(1) What method was used to determine the amount of Prior 
Aymer’s ransom and that of Isaac? (2) What sum was finally 
demanded of each? (3) Under what circumstances had Isaac al¬ 
ready met Locksley? (4) What excellent philosophy does Scott 
have the Black Champion utter at the conclusion of this chapter? 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

(1) What persons essential to John’s plan were absent from 
the council at York? (2) What disturbing news was brought by 


QUESTIONS 


515 


De Bracy? (3) Now that the Black Champion’s identity is re¬ 
vealed, recall instances in the preceding chapters when it might 
have been guessed. (4) What suggestion did John make as a way 
of escape from his dilemma? (5) Why did De Bracy refuse to 
join with him? (6) What evidences are given in this chapter of 
John’s insincerity? 


CHAPTER XXXV 

(1) What was the reputation of Lucas Beaumanoir? (2) Why 
does Scott have Beaumanoir lament at such length the decline in 
the morals of the Order of Knights Templars? (3) What phrase 
in Prior Aymer’s letter to Brian especially attracted the Grand 
Master’s attention? (4) Upon what grounds did the Grand 
Master decide that Rebecca was a sorceress? 

CHAPTER XXXVI 

(1) When the Grand Master reprimanded Malvoisin for per¬ 
mitting Brian to bring Rebecca to Templestowe, what was his 
defense? (2) Why did Malvoisin and Mont-Fitchet not try to 
prevent the trial of Rebecca? (3) How does Scott create suspense 
at the conclusion of this chapter? (4) What most arouses the 
reader’s sympathy for Rebecca? 

CHAPTER XXXVII 

(1) Describe the scene at the beginning of the trial. (2) Why 
was Brian not at the place reserved for him? (3) What testi¬ 
mony was introduced against Rebecca? (4) What penance was 
assessed Malvoisin? (5) What was Brian’s reply to the charges 
brought against him? (6) What was the substance of Re¬ 
becca’s defense? (7) With what ceremony was the trial finally 
concluded? (8) Can you account for Scott’s apparent interest 
in trials? 

CHAPTER XXXVIII 

(1) What was the final decree of the Grand Master? (2) In 
what respects have matters terminated differently from Brian s 
expectations? (3) Can you imagine whom Rebecca will secure 
for a champion? (4) What do you think of Rebecca s bearing 
throughout this chapter? 


516 


IV AN HOE 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

(1) Do you think that the prolonged conversation between 
Brian and Rebecca is natural? (2) What proposal does Brian 
make to Rebecca? (3) What effect does Malvoisin’s advice 
have upon Brian? (4) What was the strongest motive* in the 
Templar’s life? 

CHAPTER XL 

(1) What remark of Wamba’s suggests the resurrection of 
Athelstane? (2) Are you more interested in Ivanhoe’s actions 
or in the fate of Rebecca? (3) Why is Ivanhoe so unwilling to 
rest until his wound has fully healed? (4) Explain Wamba’s 
statement that the outlaws kept a balanced account with heaven. 
(5) Why did Wamba risk the Knight of the Fetterlock’s dis¬ 
pleasure by keeping the horn? (6) What concealed identities 
are revealed in this chapter? (7) On what conditions did Richard 
release Waldemar Fitzurse? 

CHAPTER XLI 

(1) Why was Ivanhoe anxious to have Richard continue on his 
journey? (2) What device did Robin Hood use to break up the 
group of diners? (3) What seem to have been the outstanding 
characteristics of Richard? (4) Describe the party assembled at 
Coningsburgh. (5) What were some of the peculiar funeral 
customs of the Saxons? 

CHAPTER XLII 

(1) Describe the castle of Coningsburgh. (2) In what manner 
was the mourning for a Saxon prince conducted? (3) Do you 
think the explanation of Athelstane’s resurrection sufficiently 
clear? (4) Do you think it weakens or aids the story? (5) In 
what respects did it simplify matters? 

CHAPTER XLIII 

(1) Describe the procession from the castle of Templestowe out 
to the field. (2) How much time did the Grand Master allow 
Rebecca to wait for the appearance of her champion? (3) What 
was Brian’s last proposal to Rebecca? (4) What do you think of 
the conclusion of the trial? 


QUESTIONS 


517 


CHAPTER XLIY 

(1) Describe the entry into the lists of King Richard and his 
party. (2) What punishment did Richard assess against the 
conspirators? (3) What became of Brian? (4) What is your 
final estimate of Rebecca? 










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